


Magic Won't Mend (Mistakes and Broken Hearts)

by NorthernWall



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Day Five: Free AU, Day Six: Free Day, F/M, Hogwarts AU, Werewolves, livmilesweek2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 04:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12810006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernWall/pseuds/NorthernWall
Summary: Seventh Year for Olivier should be great, she's Head Girl and on top of the world. Except, every time she sees her best friend she wants to vomit. Her heart races and her face flushes. That can't be normal can it?Her little drama aside, something dark is stirring under the surface. Anti-werewolf ideology is resurfacing and the werewolves themselves are struggling with a darkness within.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is more fandom merging than a crossover, so I didn't tag Harry Potter as a fandom. I hope that works for everyone. :)
> 
> Happy reading!

The prefect’s carriage didn’t look any different than it had the year before, but to Olivier, with her Head Girl badge pinned to the front of her robes, it certainly felt different. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door.

Her cool demeanor held as she surveyed the students before her. Her cold gaze landed on each of the fifth year prefects in turn and she enjoyed the way they each shivered. Her happy mood vanished faster than she could disapparate--which she did legally, having passed the exam on her first try the previous winter, thank you very much--when her eyes landed on a glittering “Head Boy” badge pinned, crookedly, next to a red and gold tie.

“Mustang,” she hissed, “you had better not ruin this year for me.”

“Olivier, your manners are as lovely as ever.” Roy smirked, reclining in his seat.

“Tch!”

“Well, with those charming words from our new Head Girl, I have a few things to say-”

Olivier opened her mouth to angrily protest, but her gaze fell on her fellow Slytherin seventh year prefect and her stomach did an odd thing it had never done before and she closed it again. The summer had certainly been kind to Miles; he had never been scrawny, per se, but he seemed suddenly broader and stronger, and his time visiting his grandfather in Ishval had darkened his skin, and his hair--which somehow had grown onto his face in the form of angular sideburns--glowed silver. He smiled up at her patting the seat beside him, and her stomach did that strange thing again.

“Congratulations on getting Head Girl,” Miles leaned over to murmur in her ear, “you deserve it.”

“Well, you deserved Head Boy, instead of that arrogant pompous-”

“I’m sure Roy will be an excellent Head Boy,” Miles chastised in his gentle way, and an embarrassed flush crept over her cheeks. He chuckled and she turned pointedly to watch Mustang prattle.

The start of term feast was probably very nice, but Olivier couldn’t really tell from her position smashed under Buccaneer’s magically too-heavy-to-lift arm. Miles fared not much better under Buccaneer's other arm, though, in his case it was his jovial good nature that kept him there, not magical enhancements. Sometimes, Olivier wondered how Miles managed to land his spot in Slytherin.

“Will you get off me, you big oaf?” Olivier snarled, when she noticed a few cheeky third years laughing at them. “You’re not even in this house!”

The giant Hufflepuff laughed, “why? Don’t want to damage your fearsome reputation? Afraid the first years won’t respect you?”

“Ease off, Buc,” Miles interjected, quite calmly, “or I’ll show all the first years those photos of you sleeping with your face in an inkwell.”

Ah, right, that was how.

“Oh, alright.” Buccaneer grumbled good-naturedly, releasing Olivier, who stabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, before fixing the giggling the third years with her darkest scowl. They stopped immediately. “Don’t the first years get tinier every year?”

“

I think that’s just what happens when you’re stupidly tall.” Olivier quipped, and both boys were kind (frightened) enough to not comment, though they shared a look of amusement at her apparent obliviousness to her own height, or rather, lack thereof.

“I don’t know,” Miles chuckled, “did you see that new Gryffindor, Edmund or somet-”

“WHO YOU CALLING SO SMALL YOU NEED TWO ENGORGEMENT CHARMS JUST TO BE ABLE TO SEE HIM?!?”

“Edward, sit down!” Hawkeye chastised, and the first year dropped into his seat immediately.

Olivier’s lip curled in disdain, “that type of behavior will not be tolerated in _my_ house.” Her gaze swept over the Slytherin first years, and several of them shivered.

Miles smiled and leaned over to speak reassuringly to them, and Olivier’s stomach gave a fluttery kind of lurch. She felt suddenly flushed, and looked away. She glared down at her plate, wondering what was wrong with her. With a shake of her head, she decided it was leftover nausea from the train ride and dismissed the thought from her mind.

\---

Quidditch was, unequivocally, her favorite pastime. She was a formidable keeper, earning herself the nickname the “Wall of Slytherin”. The first few practices of the season had gone well enough, but halfway through the season she found herself completely distracted, fumbling easy passes and letting through an embarrassing number of quaffles. Henschel, though irritating, was an excellent quidditch captain.

“What in Merlin’s name, Armstrong?!”

“Shove off, you-” the wind swallowed up her fouler expletives as she angrily shook her hair out of her face, and tried not to look like she had just flown (painfully) into the center hoop while the quaffle had gone straight through the right.

Henschel looked about ready to fly over there with a beater’s bat and she soared over to the stands, landing with a graceless thud. She tugged her gloves off and fumbled for her wand in the pocket of her robes. She heard Henschel shouting as he descended on her, and she ran her fingers through her wind-tangled hair. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, the stress of impending NEWTS, perhaps, or the responsibilities of being Head Girl. Dueling it out with Henschel wouldn’t solve anything, but she might feel better.

“Leave her be.” An entirely too familiar voice cut through the haze of her thoughts, “I’ll talk to her.”

She winced.

“Olivier?”

She turned to see Miles, clad in a green striped jumper, making his way towards her. Her stomach, which had been unsettled for what seemed ages, churned again.

“Yes?”

“Come on,” he gestured toward the nearest tower, “your team’s all looking on.” A glance over her shoulder confirmed it. Once inside the shelter of the canvas covered tower, he turned to give her a concerned look that sent her stomach into squirming agony. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been yourself this whole term,” he frowned, “did something happen over the summer? Everything alright with your family?”

“It’s nothing like that!”

He didn’t look convinced, “I don’t mean to pry, but it’s just you’ve hardly spoken to me in weeks. I know you’re under an incredible amount of stress, but-”

“What you think because my family are stuffy old purebloods, that-”

Miles held up a hand, “I don’t mean to imply anything, Olivier. I’m only worried about you. If it isn’t your family-” he hesitated, “your internship? Did something happen at the Ministry?”

She sighed, slumping a little, “it isn’t anything like that, I’ve just been feeling, er-” she scrambled for words to explain the strange way she felt around him, “nauseous.”

Miles’ silver brows shot up, then furrowed. “Nauseous?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, I see.” He exhaled slowly, gripping his ponytail, “what are you going to do?”

She frowned, “do?”

“I mean, have you found a healer? You should probably give up quidditch. Have you told him, yet?”

“Who, Henschel?”

“Is he-? Oh.” Miles said faintly.

“I guess I should see a healer, but I can’t see why I should quit quidditch. Not until I know more.”

Miles looked vaguely like he might faint, “Olivier, you should really take this up with Henschel, don’t you think? I mean if he’s the father-”

“The what?! Miles!” Olivier’s face went red. “I didn’t meant that!”

“Oh! Thank Merlin! I mean,” his cheeks pinked, “I just-well, it’s better for you, isn’t it?”

“This is the worst pep talk I’ve ever heard, and _Henschel_ is the Quidditch Captain.”

Miles laughed, low and awkward, “I’m sorry, Olivier. I had the best of intentions, but I butchered it all. I’ve been worried about you.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you. I really haven’t been feeling well, and I don’t know why.”

Miles smiled gently, “please don’t alienate me.” He reached over, placing a hand on her shoulder, “I’d like to help you. If you don’t want to see the school healer, I can take you to St. Mungo’s on the next Hogsmeade weekend. That way you won’t have to worry about anyone else finding out.”

Heat was rising in her cheeks, her heart was pounding, and her stomach was in painfully tight knots. His hand felt like a brand on her shoulder. “I’m not sure that would help, but thank you.”

He frowned, hand dropping off her shoulder. She missed it immediately. “Is it me?”

“What?”

He hesitated, “the Department of Magical Law Enforcement hasn’t always been...kind to my sort.”

“I assume you aren’t implying I’m so airheaded as to be persuaded by the fat old bigots in the DMLE! I was interning not being brainwashed!”

“Of course not,” Miles demurred, a wry smile twisting his face.

“I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again and again, until you get it into that thick skull of yours, werewolvism isn’t anything to be ashamed of. I won’t ever turn against you, I’ve got your back. No matter what. Got it?”

He beamed, red eyes crinkling, “yes ma’am! But, uh,” he glanced out into the bleachers at something she couldn’t see, “I think you’d better get out there before Henschel loses it completely.”

She nodded, “I’ll see you after practice, yeah?” She mounted her broom, but just before she kicked off she glanced back at him, “And Miles? Thank you.”

\---

Olivier never liked patrolling on the full moon. For one thing, in spite of Miles’ brave face she knew there was no such thing as a painless transformation and she hated to think of him suffering. For another, with her usual patrol partner frolicking in the woods somewhere, she was stuck with Roy Mustang.

“You don’t mind if we keep this quick do you? I’ve got a date.”

Olivier raised her brows at that. “As much as I prefer to keep my distance from you, I don’t shirk my responsibilities. Not to mention, if you go on a date you’ll be breaking curfew.”

“Not if she’s in my house.” Roy grinned smugly at her.

“Ah. Riza forcing you to study for your NEWTS doesn’t constitute a date.”

“It does if you bring a bottle of firewhiskey and bouquet of flowers.”

“Tch!”

“Well, what do you and Miles call it then?”

“What?!” Olivier stopped walking, her wand aimed at his face, her own caught somewhere between rage and absolute disbelief.

Roy stopped walking, too. “You don’t expect me to believe you and Miles are just friends, do you?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything. Miles and I are friends.”

“Huh.” Roy looked like he wanted to say something else, but he shook his head. “Would you rather go up to the astronomy tower or down to the dungeons? In other words, amorous couples or arrogant first years?”

“Dungeons.” Olivier replied tersely.

Roy’s lips twitched, but he nodded, gesturing toward the nearest downward spiral. “After you, m’lady.”

“Is that the famous Gryffindor chivalry, then?” She sneered as she swept past him, “and here I thought you were all looks.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

Olivier’s jeering words were cut off by a scrabbling at the base of the stairs. The head boy and girl exchanged dark looks. “First years.”

“Come out!” Olivier ordered sternly, her illuminated wand scanning the dark corners of the halls. “We will find you, and you’ll prefer the punishment if you give yourself up.”

“That’ll really convince them,” Roy muttered.

“I’m not in the mood for coddling arrogant little brats who think the rules don’t apply to them. Come out you little runts!”

“HEY!” They whirled to see little Edward Elric shooting out from behind a tapestry, “Who are you calling-”

“Brother!” A Hufflepuff that Olivier didn’t know crawled out from behind a nearby suit of armor. “I told you this was a bad idea!”

“Detention for both of you!” Olivier proclaimed darkly, “Elric--Edward,” she amended when two sets of golden eyes flickered to her face in concern, “I’ll be speaking to your head of house. This is the third time you’ve been caught out after curfew.”

“Is that really necessary?” Roy asked, frowning.

“Don’t you dare go easy on him just because he’s in your house! It reflects poorly on your house, not that I care, but it also reflects poorly on the whole school.”

“How come you’re not talking to Al’s head of house?!”

“Brother!” The Hufflepuff protested.

Olivier glared at them both, “very well. I will speak to _both_ of your heads’ of houses. Roy, kindly escort Edward to your common room and I’ll take Al here to his.”

“Come on Edward,” Roy held out a hand and began guiding the grumbling first year back to Gryffindor tower.

“With me, Mr. Elric,” Olivier didn’t check to see if he was following before she set off toward the cozy burrows of the Hufflepuff quarters.

“Um, Miss Armstrong?”

She turned, arching her brows. “Yes?”

“How do you know where the Hufflepuff common room is? I was told they’re secret from the other houses.”

She sighed, “I’m good friends with Buccaneer. You might know who he is.”

“That giant seventh year?”

“Yes.”

“Miss Armstrong?”

She sighed again, “yes?”

“Is one of the prefects really a werewolf?”

She stopped walking, spine stiffening. “Don’t ask stupid questions!” She took off again at a brisk pace and didn’t stop or look back until she was in front of the barrels that marked the secret entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. She waited just long enough to be sure he went in before taking off again.

A few corridors away, a pair of heavy footsteps caught up to her. She spun, wand pointed.

“Easy, Liv, it’s just me.” Buccaneer’s magic hand glowed in the light of his wand, and the look on his face was oddly akin to pity.

“I know it’s you or I would have blown your head off already.”

“I believe it.” He laughed in his easy way. “Look, I know the full moon is hard for you, but you can’t take it out on my first years.”

Olivier glared at him. She could point out that he wasn’t a prefect and therefore had no claim over his house’s first years, but she knew he was fiercely protective and adored younger students. Instead she honed in on his accusation, “full moons are hard for _me_?”

“Your, well not boyfriend, but the one you love-”

“The one I love? Buccaneer, where do you get your ideas?”

“You love Miles.”

“Tch!” She turned away, eyes catching on the reflection of the moon in the lake outside the window. “You and Roy been talking?”

“Roy? He’s noticed, too?”

“There’s nothing to notice!” She grit her teeth, “Miles and I are friends and that’s it.”

“Does he know that?” Buccaneer muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He grinned at her, “why don’t you go back to your dungeon and get some rest?”

“Tch!” She shook her head and in spite of her anger, she followed his advice and returned to the Slytherin dungeon and crawled into bed. She didn’t sleep well.

\---

Miles wasn’t at breakfast, which wasn’t that concerning, but she pocketed his favorite pastry--pain au chocolat--and headed up to the hospital wing. Buccaneer met her on the way, and his pockets also bulged suspiciously. She avoided eye contact.

“Mister Buccaneer,” the school healer glared at him when they entered, “he’s had a rough night, and I’m not in the mood for your shenanigans.”

“I’ll be as quiet as a niffler in a pawn shop.” Buccaneer promised.

The healer glared at him, but retreated to her office. Miles was the only one in the infirmary, but there was a white curtain pulled around his bed. Olivier and Buccaneer exchanged a nervous look, and Olivier reached for the curtain. Her stomach constricted painfully, and her hand was trembling. She yanked it back, and Buccaneer opened the curtain wordlessly.

Miles was oddly pale, his dark skin tinged grey and his chest was rising and falling with shallow breaths. The blanket had only been pulled up to his waist, and he wore no shirt, but his chest was so heavily bandaged it made little difference. His bedside table was littered with potion bottles and vials.

Olivier’s stomach churned and a lump in her throat choked her.

“Hey, bud,” Buccaneer in spite of his teasing the healer, spoke softly. “We brought you treats,” he reached into his pocket, and began unloading it onto the bedside table “pain chocolate, or whatever you call it and I grabbed you some of those strawberry tarts.”

Miles’ eyelids fluttered and his brow creased. It lasted only a second before his face relaxed again. He looked, if not peaceful, untroubled.

Heartened, Buccaneer continued, “I was going to bring you coffee, but the heating charm negated the sealing charm on the mug and it spilled everywhere.” He glanced at Olivier, who was staring, face ashen. “I think Liv brought you something, too.”

“I-” her voice shook and she cleared her throat, “I got you pain au chocolat, but Buc already brought you some.”

Miles’ lips moved, but his words were too quiet to hear. They both leaned down. “-ivvie-”

“What?”

“Oh-liv-” His face was scrunched up in distress.

“He wants you,” Buccaneer announced.

“No, that’s not- it can’t-he doesn’t-” she stammered.

“Olivier.” Miles’ voice was faint, but her name was distinct. His hand was twitching on the blanket beside him.

“Here,” Buccaneer took Olivier’s hand and placed it on Miles’. His fingers closed around it immediately and his face became peaceful. “I told you.”

Olivier stared at their hands. Miles’ was scraped and there was blood deep under his nails, “what if he’s hurt? Won’t this make it worse?”

“If it brings him some comfort, leave it.” The healer appeared through the curtain. Olivier realized she had likely been eavesdropping and her face flushed. “I’ll bring you a chair over and you can sit with him for a while.”

“I have class-”

“I’ll take notes for you,” Buccaneer said cheerfully as he pushed a chair under her.

“What about my Arithmancy class? You have Care of Magical Creatures.”

“I have my ways!” With a grin, Buccaneer left her sitting there feeling like an idiot.

\---

Around lunch, Riza brought in a handful of notes. “Buccaneer asked me to take these for you.”

“Arithmancy? You’re a lifesaver, Riza.”

“It’s no big deal.” Riza leaned over the bed, her voice soft, “how’s he doing?”

Olivier’s chest constricted unexpectedly. “He’s being kept under with potions, so he’s alright.”

“Poor soul.” Riza straightened and gave Olivier a kind smile, “let me know if I can do anything else for you, alright?”

Olivier nodded. As soon as Riza was gone she started on the arithmancy, awkwardly maneuvering lefthanded. She charmed her quill to copy her dictations and worked that way. Perhaps it was the sound of her voice, or his potions simply wearing off, but Miles stirred.

“What time is it?”

Olivier glanced up, “it doesn’t matter, Miles. Go back to sleep.”

“Don’t want sleep.” Miles muttered petulantly, “want water.”

Olivier peeked in the direction of the healer’s office, she’d probably get in trouble for it, but she sighed and nodded. “Alright, can you sit up?” He nodded and while he maneuvered into a passable sitting position, she grabbed an empty glass off the bedside cupboard and put the tip of her wand in it, “aguamenti.” Miles took the glass from her and drank gratefully. “Would you like any food?”

He shook his head, looking disgusted. “I killed a deer last night.”

“Oh.”

“I only remember flashes, but it was a baby.” He was staring at his hands. “It was so frightened and I just-”

“It wasn’t you, Miles, it was the wolf.”

He shook his head, “it was my mouth that was full of fur, my stomach that’s full of blood-” he froze looking horrified, “I’m going to be sick.”

Olivier just managed to get a bin under him before he vomited profusely. Sure enough it was red and Olivier spotted a chunk of what looked like half-digested fur. Her stomach churned.

As if summoned, the healer appeared. “Honestly, Miss Armstrong! I thought I could trust you not to upset my patient!” She glared at her, “out with you!”

Olivier nodded, gave Miles a fleeting glance and bolted. She was halfway to Defense Against the Dark Arts before she realized she’d left her homework.

\---

She hadn’t known how to apologize, so she’d written him a note. He’d been kind enough to put it behind him and act as though nothing had happened. She felt both relieved and oddly disappointed.

The next few weeks passed normally enough, but Olivier couldn’t shake the feeling Miles was treating her differently. She couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but something was definitely not business as usual. She had opted to stay at Hogwarts, and a small part of her was glad he was heading home. Mostly, though, she felt hollow.

She consented to attending the usual Slytherin Christmas party, though she didn’t much feel like participating. She coiled in her favorite armchair by the fire and sipped eggnog while the other’s exchanged their gifts. Thankfully, she’d drawn the name of a second year who had been ecstatic at her gift of a journal that could only be opened by her.

“Olivier,” Miles was hovering beside her and she jumped, “I found the student who has your gift. He was too nervous to give it to you in person, though. It’s over here, come see.”

She nodded, set aside her eggnog and followed. “Honestly, I’m not that frightening. I would say thank you no matter how terrible the gift.”

Miles laughed, “you are a little frightening.” Her feet were suddenly and unexpectedly heavy. She stopped and looked around, Miles turned to her an odd look on his face. He pointed up slowly, “mistletoe.”

“It, um,” her brain was blank, and all she could think of was something her gift recipient had said, “nargles!”

Miles’ brow furrowed, “what?” She didn’t, couldn’t, say anything. “It’s charmed,” he told her gently, “I think we have to, uh, kiss.”

She could feel her face flaming, all around them students were staring. She even heard the rustle of galleons exchanging hands. She wanted to shout, to tell him no. Her words stuck in her throat, and as he leaned in she leaned away. Her wand pointed at the mistletoe almost seemingly of its own accord. _“Incendio!”_

Flames shot from her wand, seering the charmed plant in seconds. The sticking charm lifted and she found she could move again. Miles was staring at her, his face unreadable. She ran.

\---

By the time she re-emerged from her room, and the cocoon she’d made of her bed, the school was nearly empty. She padded through the common room in stockinged feet, and noted that though the house elves had cleared the room, the ceiling still bore scorch marks. Her stomach churned again, but this time she knew exactly why. It was humiliation.

She was equal parts angry at herself for losing it in front of her entire house, and furious at Miles for putting her up to it. She swiped at angry tears. How could he do that to her? Had he found out about the rumors and thought it would make a good joke? Worse, had he thought them to be true and arranged a pity kiss?

She made her way down to the kitchens instead of to the Great Hall for breakfast. Her favorite house elf, one with particular long ears, named Millie ran up to her immediately.

“Mistress Olivier! Mistress Olivier! We was expecting you! Come, sit!” She ushered her to a stool in the corner and darted off to get a tray. It was already stocked with a full breakfast and a cup of hot cocoa with extra whipped cream.

“Thank you, Millie.” She took a sip of the cocoa, and frowned. “What do you mean expecting me?”

Millie looked nervous, “Millie can’t say, Mistress! Millie was told not to!”

“That’s alright, then. Thank you.”

“Millie is happy to help! Can she get Mistress Olivier anything else?” Olivier shook her head, and thanked her again. When she was finished, she rose to leave, but Millie stopped her. “Millie was asked to give Mistress Olivier this!” She held out a package wrapped in brown paper, and tied with a string. A sprig of holly had been affixed to the front with a label that simply said “Olivier”.

Olivier opened it uncertainly. Inside was a leather bound book, and she recognized it immediately. It was an ancient book of spells that was nearly impossible to get ahold of. Only two people knew she’d been searching for it. She opened it, fearing what she would find inside. There was a photo, taken at the end of the last term of herself, Miles, and Buccaneer. Buccaneer was telling a ridiculous joke and they all laughed. Miles tumbled off his perch and she’d laughed even harder.

She turned it over and there was a note. It read: _“Olivier, May you always have reason to laugh. -Miles.”_

“Millie!”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Tell the Headmaster I’m leaving!”

“What should I tell him, Mistress?”

Olivier, already running out the door, didn’t pause.

“I’ve made a terrible mistake!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this is late!
> 
> Also, it insisted on being a three-part story, instead of just two. *shrugs*
> 
> Happy reading!

She apparated with a resounding crack, the back alley of the Miles family home swimming into view. She staggered as she tried to step forward and found herself rooted in place. Of course. She cursed herself for not realizing Miles would have placed protective wards around the house. 

After a minute, the back door opened and Miles emerged, clutching his wand. His face crinkled in confusion. “Olivier?”

“Miles!” 

“W-what are you doing here?” His eyes scanned her critically, “are you alright?”

Olivier glanced down, realizing too late that she was only wearing a nightgown and stockings. She shivered,  “I’m fine. I came to apologize.”

“Oh, Olivier!” Miles stepped toward her lowering his wand, “it’s me who should apologize!”

“You?”

“I steered you under the mistletoe.” His face was chagrined. “I didn’t know about the sticking charm, I swear! I was going to give you your gift and pretend it wasn’t from me, but then I saw the mistletoe and I thought, ‘why not?’ I thought that if you didn’t like it, then I’d at least have one kiss from you and maybe that would be enough. And if you did like it, then I could finally tell you how I felt.”

“You-?” she stammered, “finally tell me? What?” 

Miles’ blinked in surprise, “I’ve been trying to tell you all term. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Noticed what?!” Her heart was hammering in her chest. 

“Olivier, I love you.”

“Oh.” She was suddenly dizzy, unmoored. 

“Olivier?” He was suddenly very close to her. “Are you alright? You look like you’re going to faint.”

She shook her head. Seized by a moment of bravery, she reached out, grasped his face in her hands, pulled it close and planted an entirely ungraceful kiss on his lips. Embarrassed, she tried to pull away, but Miles wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for another kiss. 

“Oi, what’s taking so long--oh!”

They leapt apart, or at least Miles did. Olivier was held in place by the wards. Miles, red-faced, undid the spell. “Why’d you come out here? If it had been a dangerous wizard you wouldn’t be able to protect yourself!”

“From what? An overly enthusiastic kisser?” 

“Just go back inside, please!” 

Olivier watched his sister head back inside with mild curiosity. She’d never met any of Miles’ family members, knew only that there were a lot of them and Miles alone had inherited their grandfather’s magical gene-and his werewolf one--causing a lot of mixed emotions and complicated family situations. In spite of knowing the truth, it was unlikely they could shake the stigma muggles associated with the werewolf camp Ishval. To the average muggle, it was known only as a dangerous group of cultists who performed bizarre animal sacrifices. Combined with muggle-repelling charms, it was no wonder muggles avoided it at all costs. Still, his own family had to know he wasn’t dangerous, and Olivier had scoffed at their reticence in the past. Regardless, Miles loved them deeply. 

Miles turned to her, a somewhat awkward smile on his face, “would you like to come in? I’m sure one of my sisters could lend you something warmer.”

“Will they mind you inviting a random witch in?”

“You’re not random, and you’re certainly not the most dangerous guest we’ve ever had.” He held out his hand, and she took it. It felt surprisingly right. 

He led her into the house and into what she supposed was what passed for a muggle kitchen. It was worn, but cozy. She’d never been in a muggle house before and she peered at the appliances curiously.  She’d never taken Muggle Studies, but Buccaneer had and loved it, so she had a pretty good idea what things were. Well, some things. Others were just plain strange.

“Buccaneer would love this place,” she remarked, looking around. 

“Uh,-”

“Oh, dearheart, are you alright?” A woman Olivier had never seen before in her life engulfed her in a warm embrace. “We’ll get you fixed up in no time,” she pulled back to examine Olivier, “you don’t have to tell me about it, but it must be very bad if you’ve come here in your nightdress! Not even a dressing gown! And all the color’s gone from your face!”

“Um.”

“Why don’t you go with Elle and get something warmer to wear, and I’ll fix you a nice hot cuppa, hmm?”

Olivier didn’t feel like she had a choice, so she followed Miles’ sister, Elle, upstairs to her room. The walls were covered in still posters of what Olivier supposed were popular bands. 

Elle frowned as she dug in her drawers. “Here, these jeans should fit you, but I’ll have to go get something from Miles’ room for a shirt. Nothing of mine will fit over-” she gestured to her chest, “you know.” 

Olivier took the jeans and examined them critically. She’d seen Miles wear jeans before, but those had been loose fitting and light grey. These were so snug, she was sure they were meant to be tights. She shimmied them on, and examined her reflection in the mirror. The pants were snug and she had a good feeling she knew what her mother would say and it wouldn’t be pleasant. Elle returned with a t-shirt emblazoned with a picture of a llama wearing sunglasses. She raised her eyebrows, but accepted the shirt. It was so large and hung so loosely that she suspected it was too big for Miles, too. 

Feeling a little foolish, she headed back downstairs. Miles was nowhere to be seen and Olivier wondered if he was regretting his confession in the garden. His mother wasted no time wrapping her in an Afghan and settling her on the sofa with a mug of tea. 

“There, dear, if you need anything else now you just let me know, alright?” 

“Thank you, Ma’am. I’m sorry to intrude.”

“It’s no worry, dear,” she patted Olivier’s shoulder gently, “any friend of my son is welcome here.” 

“That’s what they tell me, anyway.” 

Olivier jumped and whirled at the familiar, but unexpected, voice. Her mug shattered on the floor. “Buccaneer!”

Buccaneer grinned at her, “glad to see you’re done wreaking havoc on Miles’ heart.”

Miles, behind him, looked like he wanted to die. “Buc! Knock it off! We haven’t actually talked about anything yet.”

“ _ Oh.” _ His tone was heavy with something, though Olivier wasn’t sure what. He shifted uncomfortably, and then changed the subject with his usual grace and tact. “Hey, you’re wearing my shirt!” 

Olivier glanced down at the weird llama shirt “what, you want it back?” She reached for the hem, tugging it up a little,  and Buccaneer cut her off with a frantic shout. She snorted and sank back down onto the sofa. 

Miles noticed the mug on the floor and stepped toward it, pulling out his wand. “ _ Reparo. _ ” She watched as he siphoned the spilled tea off the floor. “Buccaneer do you think you could go check the wards out front? I know the ones in the back are working.”

Buccaneer gave him a long look before nodding, “sure.”

Miles watched him go and then dropped onto the sofa beside Olivier. “About earlier, I hope I didn’t come on too strong by saying I love you.”

Olivier’s stomach fluttered, but it was almost pleasant, and she was baffled. “No, you’re alright, but I don’t think-”

“Don’t worry!” Miles threw up his hands, “I’m not expecting you to say it back or anything. I just wanted you to know.”

“It’s not that I don’t-” 

“I’m serious, don’t feel pressured. Werewolves kind of, um-” he hesitated and rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pinking.

“Werewolves what?”

Miles’ voice came out a slightly high pitched whisper, “mate for life.”

Olivier stared at him,  _ “mate _ ?”

Miles was looking anywhere but at her now, “yeah, so just, you know,  don’t say anything if you’re not sure, okay?”

“Okay.” She stared at her feet, still covered in purple socks, “um, so, Buccaneer’s here.”

“Yeah!” Miles latched onto the new topic a little too enthusiastically, “he’s here at least a few weeks out of every summer, and usually at least once over Christmas.”

“Oh.” Olivier wiggled her toes, and noticed a hole was starting to develop in her left sock, “you’ve never invited me.”

“My dad didn’t want me to get too attached to any girls, because of the whole ‘for life thing’.” Miles studied his own toes, and Olivier immediately felt guilty. Miles’s father had passed during their fifth year, and she still remembered Headmaster Bradley taking him out into the hall in the middle of their OWLs to tell him and the anguished wail that had seemed to reverberate through the whole school a few minutes later. He hadn’t responded to any of her owls that summer, but when he saw her on the Hogwarts Express he’d dragged her into an empty carriage and pulled her into a hug that lasted nearly twenty minutes. They were late to their Prefect’s meeting and she sometimes thought that was when the rumors had started.

“So, with that, do I have to be absolutely certain to do anything, or can we, um, date?” 

Miles’ face lit like a sun, “you want to date?!” 

“I mean, if you want to.”

Miles grabbed her hand, “of course I want to! I’ve always-” a loud crash outside cut him off. He leapt to his feet, pulling his wand out of his pocket, and sprinted outside. Olivier followed hot on his heels, her own wand out. 

Buccaneer met them at the door, “wards scared them off, but-” he gestured to a lump on the ground. 

Olivier started toward it, but Miles grabbed her arm. “Don’t!” His eyes were wide and wild and she frowned at him. 

Buccaneer and Miles looked at each other, coming to some silent agreement above her head, before Buccaneer set off to investigate. He levitated the object and inspected it, from her place on the porch, Olivier could only see that it was furry and red, “coonskin dipped in fake blood,” Buccaneer said at last, “but it’s stuffed with silver.” He turned to give Miles a look, “if you tried to pick this up-” 

“I wouldn’t,” Miles said shortly. Buccaneer levitated it into a bin, and started back towards them. 

“Who’s threatening you?” Olivier demanded.

Miles sighed and gave her what he was probably intending to be a reassuring look, “no one. It’s just a juvenile prank.”

“A bundle of silver is not a harmless prank, Miles! You could have been seriously hurt!”

He smiled thinly, “don’t worry about it, dear.” 

She wrinkled her nose, wanting to fight him, but knowing he was bullheaded enough to not back down. “Don’t call me dear, it makes you sound like my mother.”

Miles chuckled at that, “fair enough.” He leaned in to kiss her swiftly, “come on, let’s go back inside.” 

Miles refused to talk about the bundle, or what had prompted him to put up wards in the first place, but Buccaneer filled in bits here and there. They’d received a few letters and threats, both in the muggle mail and by owl, while his father had been alive, but after he’d passed things had escalated rapidly. Buccaneer, being the same age as Olivier, and therefore six months older than Miles, had put up wards over the last Christmas holiday. The dead animal that day had been fake, but that wasn’t always the case. It was also not uncommon for silver to be hidden inside other things in the hopes Miles would lift them and burn himself. 

Olivier helped them put up more wards and then begrudgingly returned to Hogwarts, in part because Headmaster Bradley sent her three increasingly irate owls, and in part because the full moon was in two nights, and Miles was planning to transform in a cellar at the back of the property. Buccaneer would monitor the spells keeping it sealed and silenced, but Miles had very much not wanted her around. 

His own family was heading to see his mother’s parents, ostensibly for the purpose of a normal Christmas visit, though, the knowledge that Miles wanted no one to see him in a rough post-moon state hung in the ar unspoken. In the past, he’d been able to go to the camp, Ishval, and transform with the pack there but the older he got the more the other wolves resented his presence. In their human forms, they were friendly enough, but their wolves could not tolerate an outsider in their midst, and his grandfather’s death had left him without a protector within. 

\---

To pass the time over the holidays, she threw herself into her homework and practiced dueling with a seventh year Ravenclaw who had also stayed behind. She suspected Miles and Buccaneer would not be impressed if they knew she was routinely fighting with Solf Kimblee who had infamously injured a seventh year when he had only been a fourth year, but she had confidence in her skills. 

The day that the other students returned, she both mourned the loss of her solitude and eagerly awaited Miles’ return. To her immense relief, he made no grand proclamations or tried to sweep her off her feet. He simply smiled as he sat down across from her at dinner and made pleasant conversation about the holidays. Olivier returned the favor by not asking about a long red-purple mark on his neck surrounded by shiny, peeling, skin.

When they left dinner, however, he guided her to an unused classroom. Once inside, he pulled her in for hug and kissed her. He stepped back, holding both her hands in his and smiled at her. “How was your holiday?”

She ignored his question in favor of her own, one that had been burning all throughout dinner, “what happened to your neck?”

Miles touched the mark on his neck self-consciously, and winced “it’s nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing!” Olivier glared at him, “it’s a silver burn isn’t it?” Miles nodded. “How did you get it?” Olivier demanded.    

“I got careless, okay?” Miles snapped back, “we caught some guy in our wards and we had a shouting match. I got too close and I didn’t see what he was holding until it was too late.”

“I’m sorry, Miles,” her voice was stiff, but it was a sincere apology nonetheless, “I shouldn’t have pried.” 

“It’s alright,” Miles softened at once, “you were worried, and I appreciate it.” He smiled, suddenly and brightly, “but enough about that, I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Will you do me the honor of accompanying me on the next Hogsmeade weekend?”

She laughed at the absurdity, “I go with you every Hogsmeade weekend.”

“As friends,” he replied, “this time I want to make it a date. I’ll bring flowers and take you to the Three Broomsticks, I’ll insist that you let me pay, and if you’re alright with it, I’ll hold your hand while we walk around.” 

“That sounds nice. Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?” 

He looked a bit sheepish, “well, after the mistletoe thing, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “especially if you would rather not be seen holding hands with a werewolf.” 

“Ooh, who wouldn’t want to be seen holding hands with a werewolf?” They both jumped and pointed their wands at Solf who was dropping an invisibility cloak onto the floor. He was perched on the dusty teacher’s desk and smirked at them.

_ “Expelliarmus!”  _

Solf watched his wand soar into Olivier’s fingers unperturbed. “Your reflexes are getting faster, Armstrong. But,” he noted smugly, “still not fast enough to avoid that nasty gash I gave you during our session last week.”

“Your  _ what? _ ” Miles looked from one to the other, furious.

“Dueling practice,” Olivier replied, irritated, “and it was nothing.”

“I wouldn’t call it nothing,” Solf smiled, “it was beautiful.”

Miles grit his teeth, “what do you want, Kimblee?”

The Ravenclaw grinned, “oh, I’m just curious.” 

“Excuse me?”

“What does it take for a werewolf to lose its cool? If I insult its mate will it hurt me? If I hurt its mate, will it kill me?”

“Get out, Solf.” Olivier snarled. 

“Not without my wand.”

Olivier thrust the wand at him, “take it, then. And  _ get out. _ ” Kimblee took the wand and slid out, throwing his invisibility cloak back over himself as he went. “Ignore him,” Olivier said to Miles, “he’s an idiot.”

“Why, in Merlin’s name, were you dueling with him?” Miles hissed.

Olivier crossed her arms, “we’ve been dating for all of three weeks, Miles, you don’t get to be jealous.”

“I’m not  _ jealous,  _ I’m in shock. I can’t believe you would do something so stupid, not to mention dangerous!”  

“Tch!” 

“You don’t think it’s dangerous? What about that gash he was talking about?”

“I already told you it was nothing.”

“Let’s see it, then.” 

Olivier stared for a long moment, before tugging her robes open, and sliding them off her injured shoulder. Making direct, unwavering, eye contact with Miles she began unbuttoning her blouse. Miles, to his credit, dared to flick his eyes down once, blushed, swallowed, and returned his eyes to hers. With her blouse hanging off one arm, she reached for the bandage on her other shoulder. However, Miles reached out and began gently unwinding it. 

He exhaled sharply when the wound came into view, “what did he hit you with?”

She shrugged, and regretted it immediately, “I think it was a spell he invented, he does like to do that, you know.” She waited for him to get angry again, but he surprised her by bursting into laughter. She loved the sound of his laugh, rare as it could be, and couldn’t help joining in. “Why are we laughing?” She asked between giggles.

He shook his head, “I have no idea!” He straightened, slowly, catching his breath, “we’re a fine pair aren’t we?” 

\---

Buccaneer was impressed with neither of them. His attention, and that of the whole school, was soon diverted by the Elric brothers. In what could best be described as ill-advised experimental transfiguration, Edward had landed his brother in the hospital wing. Buccaneer insisted on going to visit the young Hufflepuff, and Olivier and Miles somewhat begrudgingly tagged along.   
Alphonse was remarkably cheerful for someone with feathers sticking out of his face. “Oh, hello! Would you like some Bertie Botts? I think all that’s left are the weird ones like grass clippings and pink eraser, but you never know.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” Olivier replied as Buccaneer simultaneously proclaimed “thanks!” and grabbed a whole handful. She watched him make disgusted faces for a moment, before turning to regard the boy in the hospital bed. “What kind of idiot tries to turn his own brother into a bird?”

“My brother is not an idiot!” 

“I’m inclined to disagree,” Miles said benignly, “but why were you boys trying to become birds?”

“We weren’t, we don’t know where the feathers came from.”  

“Wow,” Buccaneer laughed heartily, “you boys really messed up!” 

Olivier wandered away while Buccaneer and Miles chatted with the boy. She hadn’t bothered to go see the healer when her shoulder was first injured, but it wasn’t healing properly, and she was refusing to go out of sheer stubbornness. Her eye fell on a bottle of dittany in an unlocked cupboard. She debated, knowing she shouldn’t, but in a moment of weakness, she reached for the tiny vial. It was in her pocket before she could begin to feel guilty. 

Deciding she would use a little and put the bottle right back, she excused herself to the restroom. The yellow liquid was soothing as she applied it to the festering cut. She sighed in relief and slumped against the stall wall as she recapped it. Then the pain started. It seared through her like fire and she screamed. It started in her shoulder, but spread throughout her chest and down her abdomen. She stumbled and fell, hitting her head on the toilet as she went. She screamed again, and sobs racked her body.

Dimly, as though from a great distance she heard Riza shouting and banging on the door.  _ “Reducto!”  _ Fragments of the stall door rained down around her, and then Riza was grabbing her shoulders, “what is it? What’s wrong?” She appeared to have answered her own question, though, because she yanked one of her hands back and stared at it in disgust. The screaming and banging seemed to have alerted Madame Solaris, because she swept in and pointed a wand at Olivier. 

She muttered something under her breath, and then reached into a pocket to produce a glass vial of a green liquid which she forced down Olivier’s throat. The pain didn’t stop, but it did ease up enough for Olivier to sit up and stop screaming. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know, I was just putting dittany on my shoulder-”

Madame Solaris peered at the injury, “you put dittany on that?! You stupid girl! Why didn’t you come see me?” Olivier glared in response, and the healer shook her head despairingly, “well, it’s no surprise you’re not in Ravenclaw.“ She slid an arm under shoulder, “up you come.”   

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me  _ how  _ you happened to be scratched by a phoenix?”  Madame Solaris asked as they made their way back down the hall.  

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, anyway.” 

Madame Solaris rolled her eyes. 

Miles and Buccaneer found the information just as interesting as she did, once they got over their annoyance at her refusal to see a healer until it was unavoidable.

“So, Kimblee cursed you and it was basically a Phoenix scratch?” Buccaneer shook his head disbelievingly. “Aren’t those supposed to have healing powers?”

“Their tears do, but their claws are still treacherous,” Miles frowned, “do you think he knew it would react badly to the dittany?”

“He had to have,” Olivier replied, frowning, “but I don’t think that means anything necessarily, what was to stop me from going to see Madame Solaris and getting it taken care of properly?” 

“He probably thought you were going to get dittany from me,” Miles said, slowly, “he knows I always have some.”  

“Why on earth would you tell him that?”

“I didn’t, but he was in the hospital wing with me one time, and he overheard Madame Solaris giving me another bottle for my supply.”

“Why  _ didn’t  _ you give Olivier some?” Buccaneer asked, curiously. 

“He has to ration his supply very carefully, since he can’t access a new supply when he’s not at school.” Olivier informed him, “even if Miles tried I wouldn’t let him give me any.” 

“All this theorising is great and all, but  _ why  _ would he do any of this?”

“He’s bored,” Olivier said at once, “he’s brilliant, but he’s bored.”

“Brilliant?” Buccaneer snorted, “he’s evil through and through.”

“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive,” Olivier replied, “he’s just completely lacking a conscience.”

“If you say so.”

\---

Miles, as promised, brought flowers for their first Hogsmeade weekend as a couple. Olivier tucked them awkwardly under her arm and took his hand. They got a few looks, but Olivier’s furious scowl dissuaded anyone from commenting. Hand in hand, they wandered through the little village, stopping in the Three Broomsticks and, also as promised, Miles bought Olivier a frothing butterbeer. 

“You really don’t have to,” Olivier murmured, “I can-”

Miles squeezed her hand happily, “I want to.”

They settled at a little table by the window, watching the passersby and talking about everything from NEWTS to family to plans after school. Miles glanced out the window and frowned, “Olivier, will you wait here a minute? I’ll be back right away.”

“Where are you going?”

He smiled, “I’ll be right back.”

Olivier rose and crossed to look out the window from where Miles had been sitting. She watched him cross the street and stand in front of a cloaked man, who has half-hidden in the shadows. She peered closer and could just make out a huge, x-shaped scar on his face. Miles’ stance was defensive, arms crossed, body angled away from the other. After a few minutes, he turned away and stormed back to the tavern. Olivier debated returning to her seat and pretending she hadn’t been spying, but he was back inside before she decided. 

He smiled tiredly when he saw her. “I didn’t really expect you to not watch,” he told her, “there’s a faction of werewolves that don’t think werewolf-wizards should practice magic.”

“Was he threatening you?”

“No, he was trying to persuade me to join the pack, before it’s too late. He strongly implied I won’t be welcome if I graduate from Hogwarts.”

“If?” Olivier didn’t mean to sound as unsure as she did. “Are you thinking about taking him up on it?”

“Not really.” Olivier raised her eyebrows. “I’m dangerous, Liv, I sometimes think I  _ should  _ go live in a closed community where there aren’t any normal people for me to hurt.”

There was a long silence, Miles avoiding eye contact. “If you think you need to, then I won’t try to dissuade you.” Olivier said, at last. Miles’ eyes snapped to hers, “but I don’t think you’re dangerous. And, I won’t say anything we might regret, but I would miss you.” She took a deep breath, “but your life is yours, Miles. If you’d prefer to live amongst other werewolves, I would support you.”

“Thank you, Olivier.” She nodded. “But, I have too much to lose out here.” The smile that lit her face at that should have only been a small thing, but he couldn’t help thinking he’d stay for that smile alone.

\---

Olivier stirred into consciousness and was immediately confused. Her arms ached, and something pinched her wrists so tightly she could barely feel her fingers. She pushed heavy-lidded eyes open and looked around. Trees. The Forbidden Forest. No, she blinked, the trees were entirely wrong for the Forbidden Forest and the ground beneath her was far too rocky. She shifted and the pull on her arms increased. Taking a deep breath, she tried to gather her scattered thoughts and piece together an idea of what was happening. She was sitting with her back to the base of a tree and her arms were tied together, wrenched above her head and secured to the tree. She pulled at the bonds and felt magic ripple through them. 

“Olivier?” 

She turned her head, and found Miles secured to another tree a few yards away. “What’s going on?”

Miles’ face was the most distressed she had ever seen it, “I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry for what? Where are we?”

He shook his head, “it doesn’t matter. In less than an hour-”

Olivier stared at him, trying to remember something,  _ anything  _ that would explain the situation. Last thing she remembered was saying goodbye to him by the--her heart sank--whomping willow. He’d been about to sequester himself for a transformation. “Miles!”  

“I know,” he choked, “I’ve been trying to break free for almost an hour, but I can’t.” He looked at her, “Olivier when the moon rises, these-” he strained against his bonds, “these won’t hold me. I’m so sorry.” Olivier tipped her face up, dusk was fast changing to night. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Miles laughed harshly at her empty reassurance, “it isn’t your fault.” He choked and a sob escaped his lips, changing halfway to a kind of whimpering howl. He shuddered and trembled with the first waves of a transformation. “This isn’t your fault! Miles, look at me!” He managed to wrench his head toward her. “It isn’t your fault! No matter what happens, Miles, this is not your fault.”

She watched his transformation, struggling futilely against the magical bonds. Her mind was racing, but as he broke free and landed on all four paws on the ground, it stopped. She heard her heart pounding, blood rushing in her ears, as the wolf shook off the aches of transformation and sniffed the air. It was undoubtedly Miles--she would have been able to tell even without seeing him transform--the wolf was lean and strong, and his silver fur stood up in pineapple-like spikes on his tail. 

His red eyes scanned the forest and settled on her. A fear more intense than any she had ever felt spiked through her when he licked his chops and started toward her. She wondered suddenly if he would remember this, flashes of a night so horrific it would haunt him for the rest of his life, or if, somehow, mercifully, he would block the whole thing from his mind. Either way, she realized as he tensed to spring, she needed to say something. To let the last words he ever heard her speak be: 

_ “I love you.”  _

The wolf was leaping through the air, teeth bared, but she refused to close her eyes. In his memories, he would see no fear from her. His teeth scraped against her throat, but all at once he fell back. He landed on her legs with a thump. With closed mouth, he brought his snout up to her cheek and sniffed. For several moments, he sat and sniffed her face, hair, and neck. Then he sat back, and gave a happy little yip. She stared. He leaned forward and rubbed his cheek on her face, neck, and chest. 

“Miles?” 

He sat back again and cocked his head at her, like he was confused. She held her breath, and, after a moment, he seemed to decide it was unimportant and leaned forward to rub his face against her again. Olivier exhaled slowly and rested her chin on his head. His tail wagged, and she let out a surprised noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a snort. 

All at once, he stood up, knocking her chin and making her teeth clack together painfully. His ears pricked as he listened to something she couldn’t hear. He trotted a few feet and howled, then stopped and listened. He went a few more feet and repeated the process, then a few more. Before long, he was out of sight. Olivier watched him go, a new wave of fear washing over her. As frightening as a fully grown werewolf was he didn’t seem interested in harming her, and even if he had she knew what she was up against. She had no idea what else was out there. 

She pushed herself up on her legs, trying to ease the tension in her arms. It worked for a little bit, but soon her legs began to ache from the strain. Just as she was shifting back, she heard a crunch in the leaves near her.

“Miles?” 

A wolf stepped out of the shadows. She knew in an instant it wasn’t Miles. This wolf was taller and broader, grey fur matted, and most striking there was the x-shaped scar on his face. He growled, low and dangerous, slinking toward her. She twisted her wrists as though she hadn’t already tried to escape a thousand times and only succeeded in chafing them further.     

She heard the thumping of paws on hard ground and then Miles leapt through the air, going straight for the scarred wolf’s neck. Olivier watched them battle in a flurry of teeth and claws, snarls and yelps, and then Miles planted his feet firmly in front of her while the other wolf ran off. Miles howled a few times, then turned and began sniffing Olivier. She supposed he was checking her for wounds. 

“Please don’t leave me again,” she whispered into his fur as he resumed his earlier activity of rubbing his face against her. She knew he didn’t understand her, but he curled up on her lap regardless, resting his head against her chest. 

_ \--- _

_ The wolf knew little of his human life, had felt no particular pull toward the girl tied to the tree. She’d be an easy snack so he’d lunged for her, but her whispered confession had halted him in his tracks. “Mate?” Whispered a hopeful little voice at the back of his head. “Mate!” It had announced gleefully when he examined the situation with his snout. He rubbed against her soaking up the sweet scent of his mate. She smelled like ink and parchment, like soap and shampoo, and most of all human. _

_ He’d heard the call of his brethren and answered. Hadn’t meant to be gone so long, running in the woods, there’d been so many things to see and smell and chase. He didn’t know how he knew his mate was in danger but he’d gone back for her immediately. Fighting the bigger wolf hadn’t been easy, but he suspected the other wolf’s heart wasn’t in it.  _

_ Mate’s heart was racing like a prey animal’s, thum-thum-thump! Thum-thum-thump! He nestled against her, sniffing, but smelling no blood. Satisfied, he laid in her lap and pressed his head to her chest. Thum-thum-thump! Thum-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump. Slowly, her heart rate slowed to a steady thump-thump rhythm. He pricked an ear in case of danger, and drifted into sleep. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please let me know what you think!
> 
> (Also, sorry to the Kimblee fans, but he has _all_ the markers of an antisocial personality disorder.)


	3. Daylight and Deliverance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This was supposed to be the final part, but there's still a lot left to do, so it gets another extension...yay?
> 
> Happy reading!

Olivier thought she could cry tears of joy when the first rays of sunlight broke the dawn. Miles’ reverse transformation left him curled in a ball, unconscious, shivering, and--under any other circumstances Olivier would have blushed--naked. She strained against her bonds, hoping against hope they’d yield in the daylight. They didn’t. 

She heard the distinct crack of someone apparating nearby. Footsteps approached, and she watched branches bend and sway, giving way to an invisible person. A voice she didn’t recognize murmured  _ “cicatricem lupus”  _ and the sensation of claws slashed her arms, then her stomach, and legs. Red lines of blood appeared through torn robes. 

“Come out and face me!” She shouted, ignoring the pain, “you coward!” There was no response, though leaves rustled in front of her and she caught a glimpse of the edge of a robe under and invisibility cloak before fresh wounds ripped open across her chest and shoulders. She let out a cry of pain against her will, followed by a string of expletives.

As suddenly as the scar-faced wolf had appeared the night before, the scar-faced man emerged seemingly taking form from the shadows. His keen red eyes swept the area and he started toward Miles. 

Neither knowing or caring if he was friend or foe, Olivier called out a warning, “look out!” which split the air at nearly the same moment the unknown man shouted “stupefy!” 

The werewolf ducked and then charged the invisible assailant. There was a resounding thud as two bodies collided. The werewolf grappled with what appeared to be thin air for a moment, before the invisibility cloak was ripped off revealing a tall, broad-chested man, his hand was flung over his face, blocking it completely from Olivier’s view, and he shoved the werewolf off before disapparating.  

“Coward!” The werewolf called after him, his voice snarling and angry. He turned toward Olivier and Miles, his scarred face crinkling with an expression Olivier couldn’t interpret. 

“Free me!” She demanded, packing every bit of authority she could muster into those two words.

He looked at her for a long moment, considering, then pulled a knife from the pocket of his robes. Olivier wasn’t sure what he had decided as he slashed suddenly, but the knife cut her bonds neatly in two and she slumped forward her arms giving away. Apparently satisfied, the scar-faced werewolf turned away, kneeling over Miles, with outstretched hand. 

“Don’t touch him!” Olivier snarled, throwing herself over him. Without a second thought, she turned through the air and disapparated.  

Saint Mungo’s had an apparition barrier, so she  went to the next best place she could think of: her parent’s second home. She felt unusually heavy and unbalanced as she appeared in the dining hall. She scrambled to her feet trying to get her bearings and found the scar-faced werewolf had disregarded her shout and grabbed hold of Miles. 

“Where have you brought me?”

“Brought you?! You’re the one who grabbed-”

“Liv?” Miles stirred on the ground, and two sets of eyes flicked to him and then quickly away, “could you, um-”

“Here!” Olivier grabbed a tablecloth, sending a decorative fruit bowl flying, and shoved it towards him. 

With a groan, Miles wrapped it around his waist, like an oversized skirt. He crawled unsteadily to his feet, and stood beside Olivier. His gaze fixed on the other werewolf, horrified. “Scar! What did you do?” 

“Other than rescue you?”

“Rescue-?” Miles swayed in place, and both Olivier and Scar reached to steady him. 

“You and the girl were under attack. I didn’t realize you had wolfsbane last night, or I never would have approached the girl.”

“You’re trying to tell me you  _ aren’t _ the one who kidnapped us?” Miles demanded. 

“What on earth would I want with  _ her _ ?”

Olivier didn’t have the presence of mind to be offended, “Miles, do you have your wand? We should tie him up and go to St. Mungo's. We can come back and ask questions later.” Miles gestured at the tablecloth covering with a look that plainly said  _ really? _ “Right, sorry.” Olivier patted her robe pockets, but they had all been emptied. 

“I-” Scar’s statement was drowned out by several pops as wizards apparated around them.  

Cacophonous shouting erupted and Olivier caught her own name in surprised tones. Realizing she had inadvertently set off intruder alarms, she raised her hands. “Lower your wands!”

“Miss Armstrong! We’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Well, you’ve found me, now lower your wands.” A murmur went through the group and Olivier knew before they decided that they thought she was traumatized and confused and that Miles and Scar were dangerous. Which might have been the case for Scar, she didn’t know. “Put down your wands, and we can talk about-” the stunner hit her square in the chest and she had just enough time to see Miles and Scar crumpling before the world went dark.

\---

Olivier was very tired of waking up in new surroundings without warning. Before she even opened her eyes she smelled the distinct stench of a magical hospital--potions, air freshening spells, too-clean sheets, and the underlying current of the dead and dying--and knew where she was. She jolted upright, eyes opening and scanning her surroundings. Her father was sitting on a chair by her bed and he leapt to his feet.

“Livvie! Are you alright?”

She ignored him, “where’s Miles?”

His face crinkled, “he’s in another ward, dear.”

“Where?” She was already halfway out of bed, “I want to see him.”

He pushed her back down, gently. “It’s complicated-”

“Don’t give me that!” She batted his hands away and redoubled her efforts, “Miles didn’t do anything! Let me see him!”

“I know, dearheart.” She stopped struggling to stare at him. “Your brother told us all about him,” there was something of a reproach in his voice, and she bit her lip, “it’s just St. Mungo’s has protocols for, um, these types of situations.”

“What types of situations?” She asked, suspiciously. 

“Livvie-”

“Don’t Livvie me!” She snapped, “what do you mean ‘these types of situations’?” 

“Olivier,” he brushed her hair out of her eye, and she angrily pushed it back, “you just went missing. We didn’t know where you were or what happened. All we knew was that Miles was also missing, it was a full moon.” He sighed, “you may not like it, but you have to understand, he’s highly dangerous-”

“He isn’t dangerous!” Olivier successfully pushed past him, “he would never hurt anyone!”

“Alright.”

“What?”

He grabbed a dressing gown off the side of the chair, and held it out to her. “Come on.” 

Somewhat disbelieving, she pulled on the dressing gown and followed him. Her bare feet were cold against the floors, but she didn’t complain lest he turn around and force her back into bed. He led her down the corridor and into a lift. A witch in smart grey robes gave him a polite greeting, and then glanced over Olivier with a look of confusion mixed with disdain. Olivier made a face at her, and she turned away huffing. 

Olivier leaned against the lift wall when her father quirked a brow at her. She was never fond of going places in public with him, he was a distinguished member of the Wizengamot, known to witches and wizards everywhere, and she? Until very recently she was gangly and awkward, ill-tempered (alright, that was still true), and not at all what people expected of her. Dressed in an shapeless grey hospital robe and a pink dressing gown, covered in bandages and with her hair a knotted mess of dirt and bark, she felt very much like she had as a preteen. 

The lift took them all the way down to a sub-basement and when the doors opened they were greeted by a security wizard who took one look at Philip Gargantos Armstrong and waved him past. Olivier stepped out after him and her way was immediately blocked. Her father glanced back to see what the matter was and smiled.

“She’s with me.” The wizard nodded and Olivier, rolling her eyes, brushed past him. “You know, dear,” and there was that tone of unfaltering patriarchal benevolence that made her head hurt, “if you behaved a little less like a goblin and a bit more like a lady, people wouldn’t be so hostile to you.”

“Do you give Alex that advice?”

To her utmost surprise, he snorted. “Alex acts plenty like a lady on his own.” They turned a corridor and saw another security wizard in front of a heavy metal door. Olivier recognized the stripes of silver in an instant and her heart gave a painful squeeze. “We’d like to see the patient, if you don’t mind.” 

“I suppose I can’t stop you, but I’d keep your distance.” The wizard pointed his wand at the door and a series of locks began to slide open unseen.

“Dad?”

There was no mistaking the surprise in his voice at her faltering tone, “yes, dearest?”

“Can you wait out here?” He looked like he wanted to argue, but he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and nodded. The door swung open.

Olivier took a deep breath and stepped into a room that was more cell than hospital room. The door clanked shut behind her. Miles was lying on a bed at the far end, wearing a set of robes very much like her own. His red eyes opened just a slit to see who was there and then snapped open when he saw her. “Olivier!” He sat up, shifting the blankets over his left arm in the process.

“Miles!” She stopped just short of throwing herself on him, in case of injuries. “Are you alright? What’s happened?”

“I’m fine.” He gave her a gently reassuring smile, and reached up to cup her face. “How are you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” she waved him off as she sat on the edge of his bed, “have they been treating you alright? Tell me if they’re not and I’ll-” He cut her off by pulling her face down to kiss her. She pulled away, “don’t think you can distract me that easily.”

He smiled but it was half-hearted. “I was so afraid that I’d hurt you. They wouldn’t tell me anything, and I thought you might have been bitten.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Olivier reassured, “I don’t know what happened, but you were like a puppy, happy and cuddly.”

Miles’ eyes widened, “did you-” he faltered, “did you say anything, er, different?”     

“Like what?” She laughed at the look on his face, “I’m sorry, that was mean.” She leaned forward to press her forehead against his, shifting to place her arms on either side of him. “I love you.”

He closed his eyes,  _ “Olivier.” _ He reached up to wrap his arms around but stopped with a jerky movement and a hiss.

She sat up instantly. “What’s wrong? 

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” He smiled unconvincingly and tried to slide his left arm back under the blankets subtly.

She honed in on the movement. “Why are you hiding your arm?”

“What? I’m not.”

“Don’t think you can lie to me.” She tugged the blanket off and froze. His left wrist was wrapped in a thin layer of bandages, but over that a silver cuff had been fastened, securing him to the bed frame. “How dare they?” Her voice was a low growl, “how  _ dare  _ they?”

“It’s just procedure, it’s fine.” She glared at him, but in lieu of protesting she reached over and attempted to wrench the cuff open with her bare hands. Miles raised unimpressed brows at her. “It isn’t sterling, you know, just iron covered in silver.”

“It’ll burn you all the same.” She gave up and sat back, examining him for other injuries. “What will it take to get you out of here?”

“As soon as they’re sure I didn’t hurt anyone they’ll let me go.”

“Perfect.” She got to her feet, “where’s the nearest Legilimens?” 

“Olivier,” he grabbed her arm, “I admire your drive, I really do, but once you agree to undergo legilimency there’s no stopping them from just rooting around in your head to find whatever they want.”

She shrugged, “I have nothing to hide.”

“Nothing?” He gave her a dubious look, “you want to be an Auror when you graduate. Just dating me could jeopardize that, do you really want to give the DMLE  access to every negative thought you’ve had about them? About the Minister of Magic? Do you want them looking for every time you broke the rules, every time you were wild and impulsive? Every time that you lost your temper?” He smiled gently at the crestfallen look on her face, “they gave me a potion to induce vomiting and they’re using analytical spells to make sure there isn’t anything human-”

“That’s disgusting.”

He laughed hoarsely, which devolved into coughing. Olivier reached into her pocket for her wand, remembered it was missing and cursed under her breath. She crossed the room to get water from a pitcher and returned with it. Miles drank it gratefully, watching her over the top of his glass. She sank back down on the bed and he smiled. 

“Do they know who took us?”

“I didn’t ask,” Olivier admitted, “I was too busy looking for you.”

“Mmh.” Miles nodded thoughtfully, “I have an idea, but I’d like to talk to Scar first. Do you know where he is?”

“I don’t. If I had to guess, he’s probably chained to a bed in a room just like this one. I’ll ask my father when I go back out.”

“Your father?” Miles’ look was one of complete wide-eyed surprise, tinged with just a bit of what looked like fear. 

She nodded, “he’s just outside. He’s the reason they even let me come see you.”

“He knows what I am?” It was definitely fear on his face, growing with each moment, red eyes darting to the door and away.

“Yes,” she frowned, “what’s wrong?”

He laughed mirthlessly, “what’s wrong?” She nodded and his face changed to disbelief, “Olivier! He was the  _ writer  _ of the Werewolf Security Act!” 

“My  _ father?  _ Miles, what are you talking about? He wouldn’t-I mean-, he didn’t.” She shook her head and continued more firmly, “No. There’s no way-”

“How could you not know?” Miles stared at her, “how do you grow up with a man like  _ that  _ and never notice?!”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because it never crossed my mind that you didn’t know!” 

There was a silence while they each processed the new revelations. “How long have you known? That he was my father, I mean?”

“The very first day I met you I knew who you were. My grandfather took me to the station and he saw your family standing there, and he told me to be careful of you because it would take very little to get me thrown out of Hogwarts.” He sighed, and then, unexpectedly, smiled. “I remember being upset because even at eleven you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen--don’t laugh--and then you and Buccaneer got into that argument in the aisle and completely forgot about magic and it turned into a fistfight.”

“Oh, that.” She was fighting a blush, “it wasn’t that big a thing.”

He shook his head, “I thought you were going to kill each other, but then Buccaneer accidentally hit me on the head, and you stopped fighting immediately. You got up and the two of you decided you were going to be friends. I thought I could slip away, but Buccaneer threw an arm around my shoulder and announced I was going to be your friend, too.” 

“Oh! Is that why you were so avoidant? We thought you were just shy.” He nodded and she grabbed his hands, “I should have known. I-”

The bolts on the door began opening and she broke off, turning to watch the door open and a healer in lime green robes pushed her way in. Expecting the woman to begin an examination, she got up and moved out of the way.

“Right, Mr. Mills, was it?” The healer pulled out her wand and tapped the cuff, which fell open. “We’ve finished our tests, you’re free to go.” She turned to go,  “you can put the robes in the bin by the door on your way out.”

“Excuse me,” there was a soft humility in Miles’ voice that made Olivier’s blood boil, “do you have anything I can wear? I didn’t have anything on my way in and-”

“That isn’t my problem.” 

“Really?” Olivier snarled.

The healer paused and glanced over her shoulder,  looking first at Olivier and then at Miles, softening slightly when she actually looked at him, young and apparently vulnerable. “I’ll have a look in the unclaimed bin and see if I can find something for you.” 

“Thank you, Ma’am.” The healer nodded and continued on her way. Miles turned to Olivier, “what was that?”

“What do you mean? She was treating you-”

“I’m not some helpless little kid, Olivier! I don’t need you to fight my battles!” 

“Well, from where I was standing it didn’t look like you were fighting them at all!”

“We can’t all be rich little purebloods who fly through life yelling at and bullying people into doing what we want without consequence!” 

Olivier swelled with rage, “well, if that’s how you feel, maybe you should have picked someone else to mate with!” 

_ “Excuse me?”  _ They both jumped and turned to see Philip Armstrong’s considerable bulk filling the doorway.

“It isn’t what-” Olivier began, but Miles stepped forward squaring his shoulders. He looked impossibly small standing in front of the older man even though they were nearly the same height.

He held out a hand, “My name is Florentino Miles, Sir, and I’m dating your daughter.”

“I gathered that,” Philip replied in an unimpressed tone, nevertheless taking his hand. “I take it you weren’t intending to ask my permission.”

“No, Sir.” Miles took a steadying breath, “I’d appreciate your support, but it is Olivier who decides whether or not I’m worth her time.”

“Well stated,” Philip nodded, and twirled a finger in his impressive beard, “however, Olivier has responsibilities to the family to uphold.”

“ _ Olivier _ is standing right here. I have told you a thousand times, and I’ll tell you a thousand times more-”

“It was a magically binding con-”

“Well magically unbind it!” 

“Excuse me, Sir,” the healer’s voice floated from behind Philip who turned and nearly bowled her over. She thrust a bundle of fabric at Miles, “here you are.” 

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Miles took them gratefully. He glanced around the room before shrugging and pulling the robes over his head. They were huge, Buccaneer or Alex might have fit them, but Miles was positively swimming in them. He struggled for a moment and then the hospital robes dropped to the floor around his feet. He stepped out of them, unconcerned. “I’m headed to Diagon Alley to get a new wand,” he held out a hand to Olivier, “you can come with me if you’d like.”

Olivier nodded resolutely and put her in hand in his. 

“Merlin’s beard,  you can’t go traipsing about Diagon Alley just back from being kidnapped and nearly killed!” Philip held up a placating hand when Olivier shot him a withering glare. “At least come back to the house and get some robes and I’ll find someone to accompany you.” 

Miles squeezed her hand “go on, I’ll meet you at Ollivanders.”

Philip reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder, “You, too, young man. You’re not in any fit state to be dragged all over kingdom come, let alone in that atrocity.”

Miles noticeably flinched but didn’t try to fight back. His skin had been dull and ashy when he was lying down, and after standing for several minutes it had paled to a sickly shade that made the huge circles under his eyes stand out even more, stark and black against the red of his irises. Olivier slipped and arm around him, ostensibly for moral support, but his slump against her would have given him away even if her action had been as subtle as she hoped. He hesitated, before nodding ascent. 

\---

Apart from Hogwarts, Miles hadn’t been in many magical buildings before, but he hadn’t thought there’d be any surprises. From the moment he tumbled out of the bright green flames and oversized gilded fireplace he knew he was wrong. The sheer size of the hall had him temporarily thinking the elder Armstrong had double-crossed him and taken him to the Ministry of Magic for some reason, but a team of house elves clad in crisply ironed pillowcases descended on them immediately. 

Tiny hands tugged on him, attempting to pull him in one direction, while others tried to take Olivier away. She tightened her hold on his wrist. “I appreciate your quickness to serve, but he’s going to stay with me.” There was a level of warm kindness in her voice that Miles had only ever heard when she spoke to house elves. They complied immediately, guiding Olivier and Miles in the same direction. 

“Mistress Olivier,” a particularly old house elf who’s pillowcase was bedecked in numerous mismatched buttons took her hand, “you gave us all a terrible fright, you did! Master Armstrong was up all night searching for you, he was!” She topped and gave Olivier a surprisingly stern look, “Old Prin thinks you has been a very naughty girl!”

“Oh, really?”

The house elf waggled a long finger at her, “first that business with the nice Master Raven and now running off with a boy?”

Miles opened his mouth indignantly, but even if his tired brain could have strung together a proper sentence it wouldn’t have mattered because Olivier was speaking again, “well, Prin, I’ll try to do better  _ and  _ I’ll send you a new button for your pillowcase. How’s that sound?”

The house elf positively beamed. 

\---

Miles drifted in and out of wakefulness under a gauzy pink canopy. Embroidered silver stars zoomed back and forth above his head occasionally colliding and spiraling apart. Olivier went back and forth between the bedroom and its two attached rooms, sometimes speaking with someone in the outer chamber in low tones, but never left the suite, or him.       

 “Hey,” She tapped his shoulder, “I’m sorry, but you’ve got to wake up. My father’s sent for someone to accompany us to Diagon Alley and then we’ll head back to Hogwarts, alright?” 

“O-Okay.” Miles struggled into a sitting position and yawned. He glanced down to find, in place of the oversized robes from the hospital, he was wearing impossibly soft grey ones that fit as though they were made for him, which--he realized--they probably were. 

Olivier followed his gaze, mouth twitching in amusement, “House Elves.” He nodded, and she took his hand, “look, I talked to my father while you were sleeping. I won’t pretend what he did was right, but he acknowledges that he was wrong. Not that that makes it okay! Because he wrote that horrible law, and he was foolish enough to think it was the right thing. I’m really sorry, Miles.”

“It’s alright, Olivier. I’ve known for a long time who he was. It’s not your fault, and I’m glad to hear that he at least acknowledges he was wrong.”

“I promise you’ll never have to see him again.” She hesitated, “I’m not going to, either.”  He raised his eyebrows, and she continued, “he means well, but there are some things I just-” she was interrupted by a thundering knock on the door, “Merlin’s Beard! What is it now?” She raised her voice, “Come in!”

The door opened and Buccaneer bounded in. “Thank Merlin!” He yanked them both off their feet into a crushing bear hug, “I thought you were dead!”

“Ow, Buc, please!”

“Get off, you big lump!” 

He dropped them apologetically. “Are you alright?” He patted Miles’ torso, checking for injuries, “I thought I heard something pop. I brought dittany! Do you need-”

“Buccaneer?” Miles  grabbed the other wizard’s hands, pushing them off himself.

“Yes?”

“Shhh.” 

“Right.”     

“Why are you here?” 

“Ol’ Man Armstrong asked the Headmaster to send an escort to bring you guys safely back to Hogwarts and here I am!” 

“Were they able to find our wands?” Olivier interjected.

Buccaneer shook his head, “no, so we’ll need to stop off at Diagon Alley.” 

She nodded, “look after Miles for a minute, will you? I need to gather a few things.”

“I don’t need-” Miles protested, but Buccaneer was already pushing him back onto the bed. Olivier spent several minutes pacing her room, quietly gathering her belongings. Buccaneer, oblivious, chatted happily away, filling Miles in on the day’s happenings. Miles tipped his head back to watch the stars. Normally, he loved hanging out with Buccaneer, but his conversation with Olivier hung between them, heavy in it’s incompleteness. 

\---

Considering neither Miles or Olivier were excessively popular, there were a lot of people at their welcome back party (organized by Buccaneer and a handful of over enthusiastic Hufflepuff fifth years). Exhausted as he was, Miles was perfectly happy to sit on the sidelines and sip his butterbeer (Hufflepuff parties were strictly alcohol free, to the annoyance of the other houses,  because they wanted to set a good example for the younger students) and watch the goings on, until he saw Olivier slipping out. He followed without a second thought.

He didn’t know why, but his instincts told him to hang back, so he followed her quietly from a distance. She led him on a winding path up to the Astronomy Tower. She stepped up to the old railing and leaned against it to look out and up at the starry sky. She was clutching her new wand in her hand, and he could see it shaking.

When people asked Miles if he had sharper senses than  _ normal  _ humans, he’d usually say no. It wasn’t an outright lie, per se, since he didn’t have a gauge for normal, but he always suspected it wasn’t true. As Olivier’s shoulders hunched and began to trembling, he didn’t need sensitive hearing to know she was crying, but the tiny muffled sounds as she struggled valiantly  _ not to, _ broke his heart. 

She started when his arms wrapped around her, “I’m not crying!”

“Mmm.” His tone was sceptical but he didn’t press her, instead opting to rest his chin on the top of her head and look out over the grounds. Up close, he was suddenly very aware of the scents that his wolf-self had been so drawn to, even clouded by the salt of her tears. He had never noticed it so strongly before and he inhaled deeply. 

She leaned back into him, “Sorry.I’m being pathetic.”  

“You’re not pathetic,” he soothed, receiving a snort in response, “you’ve been through a lot.”

“You’re not crying.” 

Under different circumstances he would have chuckled, instead he nodded, “you’re right, I’m not. But I’m also not the one who just found out their father isn’t who they thought.” He rubbed her arms absently, quelling her goosebumps. “I know it seems bad right now, but you said he understands that he was wrong? Maybe that’ll be a good thing, maybe he’ll publically reverse his views. If he came out in favor of werewolves it could do a lot for us.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Miles?”  

“Yes?”

“What I said earlier about mating? I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, you’re not a bully and I’ve never known you to take advantage of your blood status, or your money for that matter, I was just feeling vulnerable. I still shouldn’t have yelled at you, so really, I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“There’s something, well, there’s something else I should have told you.” 

“I’m listening.”

“You’ve heard of the Raven family, right?” 

“Like that slimy old Warlock on the Wizengamot?”

She bit her lip, “that’s the one. When my father was very young, his father--who was brilliant, but cruel--entered into a magically binding contract with Gauthier Raven. In exchange for money and lands, Gauthier’s newborn son would be wed to my grandfather’s first born daughter ensuring the Ravens a tie to an old and prosperous line.” She took a deep breath, “ _ Except, _ my grandparents never had any daughters. In fact, they didn’t have any more children after that.”

Miles sucked in a breath, “ouch. I’m guessing they didn’t like that.” 

“Not very much. It certainly fueled years of feuding. Forty years, in fact. They say one of the reasons Adrien Raven--the one on the Wizengamot--never married was that no woman could ever meet up to the promise of the wealth and fame that would have come with that contract being fulfilled.” She took a steadying breath, “and then after forty years, I was born.” 

Miles stiffened, but waited for her to go on. “Adrien argued that because the wording was ‘the first born daughter of the Gargantos line’ and  _ not  _ specifically ‘Gargantos and Sophie Armstrong’s first born daughter’, then the contract was still valid. The Wizengamot decreed it was still valid and at the age of one year it was decided that I would be married to a man forty years older than I am, as soon as I turned seventeen.”

“You’re eighteen now.” There was a note of wavering uncertainty in his voice, as he suddenly wondered if the young woman in his arms was another man’s wife. 

“My parents were able to get him to agree to wait until after I graduate to. They wanted me to finish my education and have the best possible life. They fought it for years, but eventually they were told if they didn’t stop I would be placed in the custody of a third party until my seventeenth birthday. Somewhere along the way they convinced themselves that if they just believed enough that it was necessary and honorable, it would be.”

“That’s  _ horrible. _ Olivier, why did you never say anything?!”

“For a long time, I thought there would still be a way out of it. And then this past year, at the DMLE, he was always finding reasons to come by while I was working. He was never to overt, because he has an appearance to maintain, but they way he’d look at me, or touch my shoulder-” her fists clenched at her sides, “I don’t think it looked bad to outsiders, but he was so possessive. I felt like he was counting down the days until-” she broke off abruptly. “I’m so sorry, Miles. I never should have gotten involved with you, dragged you into this. I guess I was still hoping there was a way out of this.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he pulled away, gentling shifting her shoulders until she faced him, “I wish you would have told me sooner, but only so you could have shared your burden. We’re running out of time, but I’m going to help you. We  _ will  _ find a way out of this.”

She laughed mirthlessly, “we’ve already tried, Miles. We’ve tried everything short of murder, and trust me I’ve considered it.”

“We’ll find a way. Olivier, I swear, as long as I live, he will not touch you.” She snorted and he cupped her face with his hands, “Hey, it’s going to be okay. No one and I mean  _ no one  _ gets between a wolf and their mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this was supposed to be a fluffy falling in love fic, not whatever this monstrosity is. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, another chapter!
> 
> A quick warning: This chapter does include threats of rape. Nothing happens, but if that's triggering for you, please avoid! (Also, would it be helpful to put markers of some kind around the potentially triggering parts?)
> 
> Happy reading!

It had been a long time since they’d sat like this, the three of them squashed onto a four poster, its yellow curtains pulled securely closed around them. Miles cast a Muffliato spell while Buccaneer rearranged the pillows, trying to get comfortable  _ without  _ pushing either of them off the bed. Olivier was very still, hugging a pillow to her chest, and hiding behind the veil of her hair. Miles exchanged a worried look with Buccaneer as he settled in next to her, his knee resting against hers, a hand daring to land on her thigh.

Buccaneer reached behind his headboard and produced a flask, “Firewhisky?” he offered, extending it. 

Olivier perked up immediately, “you shouldn’t have this.” She didn’t seem particularly bothered as she took and uncapped the flask. She took a gulp of the firewhiskey and coughed, “I always forget how disgusting this is.”

“Won’t stop you from drinking it though, eh?” Buccaneer chuckled, and Miles took the flask and his own drink, before passing it back to the Hufflepuff. He sat back and waited to hear what had happened. He wouldn’t pry, but he had noticed their absence and when they’d reappeared they’d been shivering and Olivier’s red face bore signs of recent tears. He’d immediately herded them down to his dormitory away from the noise and the partying.

Quietly, Olivier filled him in on what she’d told Miles about Raven and the contract. Buccaneer swore profusely, took a swig of whiskey, and handed it back to Olivier, vowing to help in any way he could. 

“There’s something I want to show you,” Olivier told them when their rage had faded and the firewhiskey had calmed their nerves, reaching into her pocket and producing--

“Socks?” Buccaneer snorted, “we’ve seen socks before.”

“No, imbecile, it’s what’s in the socks.” She unrolled them and shook something out. “Look,” she held it out and they leaned in. Undoubtedly old and expensive, the largest diamonds either of the boys had ever seen winked up at them from their setting in a thick gold band.  

“That’s hideous,” Miles announced disdainfully. 

“Wow, where’d he even find something so ugly?” Buccaneer plucked it out of her palm, turning it in his hands, curiously. “When did he give this to you?”

“We typically have him over for a meal each break, sometimes a few meals over the summer. One year he said I was getting too pretty and I’d give the boys at Hogwarts ideas.” She took the ring back, studying it as though she’d never seen it before, “I’ve never worn it, not even to try it on. I was always afraid there was some kind of curse on it and I wouldn’t be able to get it off.”

“Can I see it?” When Olivier nodded Miles took it, setting it on the colorful quilt and pointing his wand at it,  “Revealio!” Nothing happened and he nodded, satisfied. “It isn’t cursed, but you don’t have to wear it.” He rubbed her knee absently, “do you want to give it back to him?”

“Well, I don’t want to keep it.” Olivier took another sip of firewhiskey, “but if I don’t have it at the wedding-” she shuddered, “I’ve seen how he treats his house elves.”

Miles felt anger rising in him like fire. Buccaneer’s eyes glowed with a rage few people ever saw, “are you saying he would beat you?”

Olivier shrugged, “I think he has every intention of keeping me like a pet. If I’m good, he’ll pamper me and provide me with every comfort, but if I make him angry-” she stopped, taking another swig from the flask, and handing it to Miles, “-he has a sadistic streak.”

“If he lays even one finger on you, I’ll rip out his throat.” Miles growled, making Buccaneer give him a nervous look. 

Olivier laughed darkly, “you’d be signing your own death warrant.”

“Okay, I think you two have had enough.” Buccaneer reached over to pry the firewhiskey out of Miles’ fingers. “I always forget you’re a pair of lightweights.”

“We need a plan.” Miles insisted, reaching for the flask again. 

“We do,” Buccaneer agreed, pushing him away with one hand, “but we’re not developing one until you two have slept it off. Look, Olivier can’t even stay upright.” Sure enough, Olivier had slid down, curling up on spot, handfuls of yellow curtain clenched tightly in her fists. 

“She’s so pretty.” Miles murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, she is.” Buccaneer narrowed his eyes at him, “do I need to stay here, or will you keep your hands to yourself?” Miles’ eyes went comically wide and he shifted to sit on his hands. Buccaneer rolled his eyes, “okay, come here.” He pushed Miles against the pillows and draped a blanket over him, before tucking Olivier in where she was already sleeping at the foot of the bed. “I’m going to sleep on the floor, so if you guys need anything-” Miles cut him off with a snore and he groaned. “Lightweights!”

\---

It wasn’t as though Buccaneer had never kept a secret from Olivier--he did a lot of things for Miles’ transformations that Miles had never wanted the woman to know about--but all the same he was glad Miles would be the one actually lying to her. He could have easily set the pace with his long legs as they trekked over the snowy path to Hogsmeade on an afternoon when they really should have been in class, but he hung back letting the Slytherin boy lead the way.  

Miles’ head was bowed, fluffy ponytail sticking up and tempting Buccaneer to ruffle it, but he didn’t. Instead, he wondered what was running through the werewolf’s mind. For weeks he’d been obsessed with trying to track down Scar, but he seemed to have fallen off the map. When he’d asked Buccaneer to go with him to Hogsmeade, he’d thought the other werewolf had turned up, but this was something else, entirely. 

Miles watched the snow crunching beneath his feet and the puffs of his breath clouding his vision, grateful his big friend wasn’t asking questions. Deceiving Olivier was never something he wanted to do, or even something that he’d started doing consciously, but the effects of his transformations--now known to her, he realized--were horrifying and humiliating. He hadn’t really intended for Buccaneer to get involved, either, but when his father’s declining health prevented him from being able to help him in the hours after daybreak following the full moon, he couldn’t bring himself to make his mother take over. No thirteen year old wanted their mother to pick their naked body up off the floor and clean away the blood and vomit that were so unavoidable. He’d trembled when he asked Buccaneer for help with the disgusting task, and for four years Buccaneer had diligently traveled to his home for full moons. Had cleaned and bandaged Miles, clothed him, fed him broth and potions, and carried him up from the filthy cellar to transfer him into a clean bed and his mother’s waiting arms. 

He was so deep in thought that he didn’t even realise he had reached his destination until Buccaneer set a hand on his shoulder. He turned to glance up at the Hufflepuff and smiled at the look of concern that greeted him. Buccaneer snorted and then nodded, his hand dropping away. Miles took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the Three Broomsticks. 

Philip Armstrong was impossible to miss, his distinct mustache set him apart from the other diners immediately. Miles was shaking as he crossed to the corner table the older man had selected. Buccaneer, quite casually, made his way to the bar, but a sharp glance at Olivier’s father showed him he  _ would  _ be paying attention.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Philip began when Miles sat down across from him, “I wasn’t sure if you would.” He cleared his throat, “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t shown up today, honestly.”

“I said I’d be here.” Miles said, tersely. 

“Of course,” Philip nodded diplomatically. “What would you like to drink?”

“I don’t need anything, thanks.”

“Alright, then.” Philip snapped his fingers and a bottle of a very old wine appeared on a tray with a  glass on either side. “If you change your mind,” he poured two glasses and took one himself. He took a sip and nodded, satisfied. “I suppose you’re wondering what I could possibly want to speak with you about?”

“The question did cross my mind, yes.”

“As you may know, the Armstrong family is very old and we have a number of very proud traditions. What you may not know, however, is that some of our traditions are, well,” he frowned, twirling his wine glass thoughtfully, “less than admirable. My father was a particularly proud man and he entered into an inadvisable agreement that had, ah,  _ unfortunate _ consequences.”

“Like forcing your daughter to marry a man forty years older than her?” Miles suggested bitterly. 

Philip started, then nodded. “Well, that’s one bit of awkwardness out of the way. When you told me you were dating her, I thought perhaps she hadn’t told you.”

Miles said nothing, not wanting to reveal that Olivier  _ hadn’t  _ told him anything. Not until later, at any rate. 

“She’s a wilful girl, and she’s been rather open about her dislike of-”

“The idea of spending the rest of her life being raped and abused?” Miles spat, a now-familiar fire rising in him.

“Do you know much about curse-breaking?”

Miles frowned. “What?”

“Do you know how many wizards it takes to break a magically binding contract?”      

“I don’t,” he admitted, reluctantly. 

“Depending on the magic of the two people entering the contract and the number of co-sealers, anywhere from three for a simple contract to twenty-one for a more advanced one.” Philip drained his wine and poured another glass. “Two very old and powerful families are going to use the most advanced spells for their contracts. The Wizengamot can order curse-breakers to destroy a contract if they feel it falls within their purview, but if they don’t, how do you even find twenty-one curse-breakers?” He raised his brows at Miles who was barely resisting the urge to squirm in his seat, “how do you convince twenty-one people to defy the Ministry of Magic, knowing they’ll have to leave the country forever and that still might not be enough to avoid being sent to Azkaban?” Miles took the other wine glass and Philip nodded, “that’s where we wound up, too.”  

“This is why you asked me to meet you?”

“Well, yes and no.” Philip pushed a scroll across the table, “this is a copy of the contract. I doubt you’ll find anything, but since you seem determined-” he shrugged. Miles took it gingerly and started to rise, but Philip ushered him to sit back down. “There’s one other thing. I suppose there’s no hope that you aren’t aware of this, or her reasons, but Olivier is no longer speaking with me or her mother.”

“I’m not going to tell her she needs to write you, nor do I have any interest in being an owl for you.”

“Of course not,” Philip waved a hand dismissing the idea, “I’d like you to hear from me why I’ve made some of the decisions that I have.”

“You’re going to justify the Werewolf Protection Act. To me. A werewolf.”

“Justify? No, I don’t think so. However, I would like to explain.” Miles crossed his arms, but made no attempt to leave, so Philip continued, “do you know my second eldest, Amue? No matter,” he said when Miles shook his head, “she and my middle daughter attend Beauxbaton.” He sat for a long moment, twirling his mustache and watching a little girl running down the street. “I mentioned before that there are some traditions passed down the Armstrong line that I am not proud of. I spent many years untangling the good from the bad. Unfortunately, as you can see, many of my own Father’s decisions were less than admirable. When my wife found out she was expecting a second child we were delighted. Our eldest daughter was going to be lost to us, and we were determined not to allow any harm to come to our next child. My father had, against all wise counsel, made a series of very underhanded dealings with an auror named Basque Grand. It should come as no surprise to you that he failed to deliver on his end, and like many others when he died, Grand came to me to collect.”

“He thought Raven had a good idea, then?” Miles was intrigued in spite of himself.

“Indeed. I was actively fighting for my daughter at the time and it made it very clear that that was the best way to get to me. He threatened to place werewolves in strategic locations at the full moons and turn my baby girl into a mon-” he cleared his throat, “a werewolf. I had already failed one daughter, how could I fail another?” 

“And there was no other way to you than to ruin the lives of hundreds of werewolves?” 

To his astonishment, Philip’s eyes were glistening with suppressed tears. “Unnamed and unknown werewolves, or my precious baby girl? It seemed so obvious at the time. I never foresaw, though I should have, how my law would have been used. All I wanted was to protect my family.”

“What about my family?” Miles choked out around the lump in his throat, “what about the countless families you’ve destroyed?”

“It was never my intent,” Philip practically whispered, “I am so sorry.” 

“Sorry won’t fix my family,” Miles got to his feet voice getting quieter and deadlier all the while, “sorry won’t bring my grandfather back. He died because no one would treat him. Because of you. Because of you, they took me away from my parents when I was just a child.” He didn’t remember taking out his wand, but it was pointing at the man’s broad chest. “Because of you, my family had to move out in the middle of nowhere to be allowed to take me back. Because of you, my family could never afford proper medical care! Because of you, my dad worked himself to death!”     

  “Hey, bud. Let’s calm down, okay.” Buccaneer was behind him, magical hand closed gently around his wrist. “Why don’t you put down your wand and come outside with me, huh?”

Miles drew a deep breath and looked around, witches and wizards all around them were watching in varying stages of alarm, wands drawn all around. He exhaled slowly and nodded. 

“Good,” Buccaneer pressed his arm down and without letting go, began making his way outside. Miles let himself be pulled along a bit numbly. Once outside, Buccaneer picked up the pace, practically dragging him up the snowy path, not slowing down until they reached the castle gates. 

“Merlin’s Beard, Miles!” Buccaneer huffed, struggling to catch his breath inside Hogwarts’ grounds. “You  _ cannot  _ attack members of the Wizengamot in broad daylight.”  Miles was silent, returning his wand to his pocket and taking slow, deep, breaths. Buccaneer watched him for a minute, “I didn’t know they took you away from your family.”

Miles shrugged. “It wasn’t for very long.”

“Where did they take you?”

“A group home for children like me.” Miles rubbed his face tiredly, “it was filthy and depressing. Most of the other kids there had completely muggle parents who didn’t know anything about werewolfism and thought their children were monsters. My mother cried for days after they came to get me.” Buccaneer nodded, knowing Miles wasn’t looking for his sympathy. “That’s beside the point,” Miles held out the scroll he’d been given. “Now we can help Olivier.”

“Have you considered telling Olivier the truth?” They both jumped guiltily and found Olivier watching them from a perch in the upper branches of an old tree. She came down with far more grace than either of them could have managed and stood glaring at them both. “I was worried sick about you two, you know. Disappearing in the middle of classes? Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” 

“I, uh, it’s just--well, we--” Buccaneer fumbled.

“It’s my fault.” Miles told her, stepping towards her, “I roped Buccaneer into this.”

Olivier made a disbelieving noise, then surprised him by throwing her arms around him and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. “I love you, you stupid idiot. Please don’t lie to me again.”

Miles gripped her just as tightly, lifting her off the ground a little, “I won’t, I swear.”

Buccaneer muttered something about homework and not being needed anymore and  started back toward the castle.

“No more secrets?” Olivier whispered when Miles set her down.

“No more secrets.” Miles agreed and pressed his lips to hers.  

\---

As it turned out, Miles didn’t have to keep looking for Scar , the other werewolf found him. Miles let out a very undignified yelp when he entered the shrieking shack and found Scar sitting on the rickety old four poster, clutching--bizarrely--a boot to his chest. 

“Merlin!” He clutched his chest. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?” 

Scar didn’t answer, instead tossed a pair of the simple tan robes that were so common in Ishval to him. “Put these on.”

Miles caught them on reflex. “Why?”

“You’re going to stand out in Ishval, if you don’t.”

“What makes you think-?”

“Hurry up, or we’ll miss our portkey.” That, at least, explained the boot. “You’ve been looking for answers, haven’t you? About who abducted you and why?”

“Yes.” 

“Then put the robes on.”

Miles complied, and then crossed the room to touch the boot gingerly. “Why should I trust you?”

“Haven’t you wondered why I didn’t attack the girl in the woods? I could have, you know, but I wasn’t going to you. I thought you were going to kill her, honestly. Then I thought it was wolfsbane, but I asked at St. Mungo’s and they said you hadn’t had any.” 

“Wolfsbane?”

“I’ll tell you everything in the morning.” 

Miles opened his mouth to protest, but just then the portkey gave him the sensation of a sharp tug behind the navel and he was whirling toward Ishval.

\---

“Miss Olivier,” Olivier turned to see the Headmaster smiling benignly down at her from the stairs to his office, “if you’ll follow me?”

“Of course, Headmaster.” She set off up the stairs, fully expecting to see Roy in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Miles was in the shrieking shack and Buccaneer at quidditch practice, and besides it wasn’t uncommon for her, as Head Girl, to meet in the headmaster’s office. The seated figure, was decidedly not Roy and her heart dropped into her stomach.

“I’ll leave you alone with your visitor, then.” 

“No, Headmaster, wait-!” The door was already shutting though, and when she pulled the handle it didn’t budge. She turned back to face Raven as he rose and pulled out a chair for her, smiling in an almost-convincing way. 

“Come, have a seat, my dear.”  Seeing him there, after so many months, there was something very familiar about his broad-chested figure that she should have recognized before. She walked like a prisoner preparing for a dementor’s kiss, sliding into a chair woodenly. Raven pushed it in, and rested a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it in the particular way of his that made her skin crawl. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, and she jerked away.

“Why are you here?”

“Do I need a reason to see my fiancee?” He asked, sweeping her hair off her other shoulder and rubbing it, too.

“I suppose not.” She was surprised that her voice didn’t quaver. A little voice in her head was telling her to play it cool, to stay calm. 

“Ah, good.” His hands were carrying on down her her arms. “Although, I do have a gift for you, my dear.” He pulled back and set a long thin box in front of her. She stared at it, the bow doing nothing to disguise it, her suspicions all confirmed. “Call it a wedding present.”

“How can it be a wedding present? I don’t graduate for another four months.”

“I’ve decided I can’t wait that long, I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

“Ah, I suppose I’ll go pack my things-”

His hand clenched on her shoulder, “there’s no need. That’s what house elves are for. Besides, you’re ignoring my gift. Go ahead and open it.” 

With steady fingers, she untied the bow as slowly as she dared and opened the box. Nestled gently on velvet was her old wand. Her fingers closed around it and she felt the slight hum of power that her new wand lacked. 

“Well?” Raven pressed, his fingers digging in even harder. “Do you like it?”

“I’m confused.” Olivier lied, “I’d lost this, where on earth did you find it?”

“It’s an interesting story, really.” Raven’s voice hadn’t lost any of it’s faux-joviality. “I was patiently waiting for my sweet,  _ pure _ , fiancee to finish her education, when one of her classmates reached out to me with a bit of news he thought I might want to know. My  _ dear little fiancee  _ was whoring herself out like a common prostitute, to a werewolf, no less.” 

“I think your source was misinformed.” 

“You know, I wanted to think that. I really did.” His grip was bruising. “But, on his suggestion I went to Hogsmeade and do you know what I saw?” It apparently wasn’t a rhetorical question, because he dug his nails in. “Hmm?”

“A completely innocuous social outing?” Olivier suggested, fighting to keep the pain, and rising panic, out of her voice. Her own fingers were clenched around her wand so tightly her knuckles had gone white.  

“I had to show the world how dangerous the wolf was.” The feigned cheerfulness finally vanished, “I was going to grieve your loss, and call for stricter werewolf control laws.  _ The Daily Prophet  _ was going to show your portrait side by side with a photo of me clutching your mangled body and sobbing. It was going to be beautiful.” He gave her a slight shake, “but then you managed to muck up even that.” 

“How were you going to explain my presence in a forest miles from Hogwarts?” If she could keep him talking long enough then maybe she could figure out a plan. 

“It’s easy enough. Obviously, the werewolf abducted you. You’d make a  _ delectable  _ morsel, afterall.”

“How did you get us off the school grounds? I’ve always wondered.” Her voice was mild, they could easily be discussing the weather.

“My young friend helped me. He was most eager, a very curious sort.”

“I see.” 

“Come now, my dear,” he backed off enough to let her stand and she did, rolling her bruised shoulders in search of relief, “we need to get going.”

“Where are we going?” The fool hadn’t even tried to take her wand. He had been an Auror back in the day, but if she was fast enough she could stun him, so long as he stayed off his guard.

“We’ll be going to a Ministry friend’s home first. He’s kindly agreed to perform the ceremony. Then we’ll have ourselves a lovely honeymoon.” His eyes were sweeping her with unabashed hunger, “and then you’re going to meet with a most unfortunate end. Maybe your werewolf lover will track you down and kill you in a fit of jealous rage. Maybe my tired old house elf will confuse sugar and arsenic in your morning tea. I haven’t decided. Either way, I’ll have my revenge. Sweep them away like the dirt beneath my feet. So, come now.”

He turned to her, hand held out, his face fixed in his patented friendly old man smile. She raised her wand, swift and decisive, it sung as she slashed the air.  _ “Sectumsempra!”  _

His eyes flew open, his mouth opening and shutting in a noiseless gasp. Blood spurted out all at once, covering her, the Headmaster’s desk, and the floor all at once. He fell to the ground with a dull thump and she regarded him coldly. A stroke of her wand made the floor gelatinous beneath him, and he sunk slowly into the stone, gasping and cursing her. 

“It looks like you’ll be the dirt beneath my feet.” 

“Mistress Olivier!” Olivier’s head snapped over and found Millie the house elf staring at her in wide-eyed horror. “Headmaster Bradley has a spell on his office, Miss!” The little house elf squeaked, “so we’s will know right away when it needs to be cleaned!”

“I see.” Olivier tossed her wand, not the one just returned but the newer one, on top of Raven just before the floor swallowed him completely and solidified once more. “I suppose you need to tell the Headmaster?” She smiled gently at the house elf.

“No, Mistress! I is not needing to.”

“Alright, then.” Olivier nodded, “if they do find out, I want you to tell them it was entirely me, alright? I’ve put my wand in, so they’ll know. Could you do a favor for me?” The house elf nodded tremulously, “would you please get me Buccaneer? And, perhaps, have another elf bring me my things from my dormitory? Thank you very much.”

Buccaneer was completely disoriented when the house elf brought him back a few moments later. Side-along apparition via house elf was always an uncomfortable event. He stood still for a moment, taking in the blood covered room, and the equally bloody Olivier reclining in the headmaster’s seat like a queen on her throne. He didn’t waste time asking what had happened. Another house elf appeared with Olivier’s trunk and he shrunk it and cast a feather-light charm while the elves carefully cleaned up the blood, before vanishing again. 

“Where will you go?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure it matters so long as people think I disappeared with him. I’ll need to work out a plausible cover story when I return alone.” Buccaneer nodded, and she pulled on a cloak. She took the flu powder pot off the mantle and then paused, turning to regard the Hufflepuff. “Take care of Miles for me?”

Buccaneer nodded. “I’ll get him through his N.E.W.T.s. Hopefully you’ll be ready to come back after that, then.” 

She nodded then surprised him by wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. He lifted her off the ground and held her in a warm embrace. “Goodbye, Buccaneer.”

“Until we meet again,” he replied with unusual sombreity. She turned back to the fire and this time went forward without hesitation. The flames roared green around her and then she vanished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, y'all, I'm almost done! I wanted to finish it with this chapter, but I'm exhausted and I wanted to put something out. Chapter five _should_ end it, with an epilogue. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments are basically virtual hugs. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...have a thing.

_ There was a weird taste on the wolf’s tongue and he had the vaguest memory of a foul-tasting potion being shoved down his throat. The wolf wasn’t overly concerned, nibbling some grass to chase the taste away. A scar-faced wolf pushed him with his shoulder, nudging him out to where other wolves trotted and sniffed happily. A three-legged female approached and he tilted his head curiously. The scarred wolf abandoned him immediately, and he sat down, tail wagging as the other two rubbed their faces and chests together, sniffing affectionately. They were obviously a mated pair. _

_ Mated? Wait. He sniffed the air, his tail stilling. Mate? Where was  _ his  _ Mate? He howled, and while several calls answered, none were Mate. Where was she? Dissatisfied with merely watching, he got to his feet and began sniffing the area. Dozens of unknown scents greeted him, but he ignored them all. Under the moon’s harsh light he spent the night running, sniffing, and calling for his Mate. He never found her.  _

\---

“What do you mean, left?” Roy was frowning at the Headmaster doubtfully. “Olivier wouldn’t just  _ leave. _ ”

“I don’t know what else to tell you, Mister Mustang.” Headmaster Bradley smiled, perhaps a bit tensely, at him. “Miss Armstrong received a visit from her fiance and decided to leave with him rather finish out the year.”

“Her what?” Several of the other prefects were whispering to each other even as Roy voiced his confusion.

Bradley’s patience was wearing thin. “Her fiance, Adrien Raven.” 

“But, Sir, she hated him!” A Hufflepuff seventh year piped up. “I was at the Ministry for an internship, too, and-”

“Regardless of whatever gossip you may have heard, the simple truth is Miss Armstrong has left to get married. Miss Hawkeye will be filling in as Head Girl for the rest of the term. Unless there are questions about the redistribution of duties you may all leave.” 

Still murmuring in confusion and disbelief, the prefects shuffled out. 

“It’s not that I’m not happy for you, Riza, but does any of this feel right to you?” 

“No.” Riza shook her head, turning the new Head Girl’s badge thoughtfully in her fingers. “I hate to even think it, but I can’t believe she’d  _ willingly _ leave the school.” She bit her lip as she met Roy’s gaze. “Can you?” 

He shook his head. “Especially with Raven.” Roy’s frown deepened. “I know there was something weird between their families, but she hated him. There’s no way she’d give up everything she’s worked so hard for to run away with him.”

“Do we really think she’s been taken against her will?” Riza stopped walking, “I mean, really and truly, do we think Headmaster Bradley would really condone that?” 

“We should talk to Buccaneer and-” he broke off a look of horror crossing his face “-oh no.”

“What?” Understanding dawned on her a moment later, “it’s the full moon.”        

He nodded, his face dark with concentration. “Miles is going to be devastated.” 

Riza took his hands, gently squeezing them. “This isn’t your fault, you know.”

He nodded again. “I know, but I can’t help but feel I should have realized something was going on. I’ve known her longest and-”

She cut him off with a shake of her head. “She wouldn’t have wanted you to know.” 

“Well, what she wanted and what she needed-”

“Weren’t ever your concern.” She squeezed his hands again, stretching up on her toes to kiss him. “Let’s go talk to Buccaneer and see what he thinks, hmm?”

\---

Buccaneer was, to put it mildly, jumpy when they found him pacing the halls between the Hufflepuff and Slytherin common rooms, wand clutched tightly in his shaking fingers. 

“Have you heard the news?” 

He jumped and spun toward them, calming only slightly when he saw who was addressing him, “you could say that, yeah.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Riza asked in her gentlest voice, as though Buccaneer were a frightened animal who might take off at a moment’s notice.

“Nah. I don’t think--well, maybe.” The Hufflepuff rubbed his shoulder where the magical arm met flesh, seemingly absently. “I spoke to her just before she left-”

“You spoke to her? What’s happening?”

Buccaneer looked for all the world as though he’d been caught in a lie, but he recovered quickly, “she’s fine.”

“Really?” Roy glared at him, doubtfully.

“She will be. That’s all I can say, okay?” The look he gave them was enough to silence them.

“You said there might be something we could do?” Riza was still speaking softly, though slightly more firmly now.

“Well, she’s a bit worried about how Miles will take it.” 

“So are we,” Roy admitted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we have to physically prevent him from taking off after Raven.”

“I’m hoping it won’t come to that,” Buccaneer sighed, grabbing his braid, “but it might. He can’t help it, I don’t think, not now that they’re technically mated.” He clapped a hand over his mouth, suddenly horrified. “I should not have said that!” 

Roy blinked in surprise, but Riza nodded. “I thought as much. Olivier hasn’t been the same since the abduction. Not that it’s unexpected, but she’s been much more distracted. Whenever Miles is near her, though, she calms right down. It’s rather sweet, honestly; You can feel the love between them.” 

“So right now she must be-” Roy clenched his fists, “-if I get my hands on that bastard, Miles may have competition for doing him in.”

Buccaneer’s face shifted through a range of expressions before he said in a somewhat strained tone, “don’t discount Olivier in all this. She’s not one to go down easily.” He cleared his throat. “Look, the thing is we need to protect Miles from himself. I promised her, I’d get him through his NEWTs, and I will but it’ll take more than just me to make sure he stays on track.”

Their impromptu planning session lasted nearly an hour, before they all retired to bed. The morning was a challenge enough to face without being sleep-deprived.

 

\---

The cabin wasn’t anything fancy, that was for sure. As children, Olivier and her siblings had delighted in the dilapidated structure on the far edges of the mountain property that her parents had allowed them to roam. With a falling roof and chinks in the walls large enough to put her hand through, she doubted anyone would think to look for her there. 

She first cast muggle-repelling charms, disillusionment spells, and wards. When she was certain she could not be found out, she set to work on repairing and cleaning the structure, carving out a place for herself amid the bats, rats, and cobwebs. She’d never been particularly domestic but she didn’t think it looked half-bad.

Regrowing her trunk to its original size, she dug out clean robes and a cloak to sleep on. Something fell out, rolling across the floor, and stopping with a clatter. She knelt to scoop it up and found the ring Raven had given her. Impulsively, she grabbed it and prepared to throw it into the fireplace. Common sense stopped her. When this was all over, she decided, watching the diamonds glitter in the light of her lantern she would find a particularly good destructive spell and obliterate the thing, but until then she might need it for proof of Raven’s intentions. 

The sun was coming up by the time she finally laid down on her cloak, a spare set of robes under her head. She watched the rays creep across the floor, wondering if Miles had transformed back yet, and if he was alright. At least, she was confident, Buccaneer would tell him she was safe, but even so he’d not be reassured. She just hoped he would see the sense in remaining at Hogwarts and finishing out his education. With thoughts of him filling her mind, she finally drifted into sleep.     

\---

Miles blinked into awareness slowly. He was curled into a ball on a patch of grass, and he could feel dust and dirt coating his skin, a bitter taste still on his tongue. His body was sore and achy, but he hadn’t ripped himself up too badly. He pushed himself to sit up and almost panicked. Why was he outside? Who were all the other people slowly rising to their feet and wandering around, every bit as naked as he was?

He looked around, slowly piecing together a concept of where he was and what was happening. An elderly werewolf with a gentle smile and a slow, but steady, gate ambled toward him, extending a bundle of tan robes. He groaned as he reached for them, pulling them over his aching body with shaking arms.

“Take your time, child. Rest and greet the sun.”

“What?”

“The moon has set and the sun shines on us, so accept the peace, and be grateful.”

“Ah.” The Ishvalan werewolfs had a reputation for their strange beliefs for a reason. “Thank you.”

“There you are, Miles.” Scar made his way toward him, looking stiff and pained, but walking steadily in a way Miles knew he would need hours to replicate. Leaning against him, and looking far more drawn, was a young woman that Miles instinctively knew even before he saw her missing limb was Scar’s mate. 

“How are you up so easily?” 

“Potions, mostly.” Scar helped the woman sit, leaning her against a tree and kissed her forehead, before turning back to Miles. “I trained with our pack leaders for many years to control my body’s reactions to the transformations, but Wolfsbane has been our greatest breakthrough.”  

Miles frowned, his head throbbing, “was that--did you give me some last night?”

Scar nodded, seating himself across from Miles. “We weren’t able to make the adjustments for you, and you’re meant to take a dose a night for three nights, but we hoped even a little would help. Did it?”

“I think so? I’m not all torn up and I don’t think I got into any fights.”

“You were so forlorn last night.” The woman spoke, her face sympathetic, “do you usually transform with your mate?” 

“Uh,” Miles cleared his throat uncertainly, “no.” 

“His mate isn’t a werewolf,” Scar explained, in a tone of faintest disdain.

“Oh?” She tilted her head, “how interesting.”

“So, Scar, why were you so insistent on bringing me here?”

“We have information we thought you could help us with.”

“Eh?”

“In our search to protect ourselves we have uncovered some very interesting things about the Wizengamot and its members.” Scar sighed and ran his hand through his hair, “but I’ll let the alphas fill you in on that. For now, rest. You obviously need it.”

\---

The path from the shrieking shack to the castle had never felt so long as Miles made his way up it, trying to both run and ignore the ache in his ribs. He was accomplishing neither very well, but he had to get to Olivier, before it was too late, and that was all that mattered. The door swung open and a big metal hand grabbed him, yanking him into a tight embrace.

“Get off, Buc! I have to-”

“What happened? It’s nearly noon! You’re never in the shack this late!”

“I’ll explain later! I have to get to Olivier!” He panted, “I have to warn her!”  

“Hey, hey, calm down.” Buccaneer gripped both his shoulders. “Take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it isn’t! Olivier! Where is she?” Their eyes met and Buccaneer slowly shook his head. “No!” Miles’ eyes were wild with despair. “No!”

“It’s okay,” Buccaneer assured, “she’s  _ okay. _ ” He glanced around, “look it isn’t safe here, so come with me, and I’ll explain.” 

With an arm around his shoulders, the big Hufflepuff steered him down the halls and to a hidden alcove behind a tapestry of a goblin king. Casting a  _ muffliato  _ spell, he pushed Miles to sit on the small stone bench.

“Look, Raven came for her last night, but she refused to go with him.”

Miles’ face lit with hope, “so, she’s here?!”

“Um, no.”

“What? Spit it out, Buccaneer. You’re not making any sense.”

Buccaneer scrubbed his face with the heel of his hand. “Ugh. I just, how do I explain this without you losing it?”

“Hurrying would be a good start.”

“Raven’s dead.”

There was a long silence while Miles’ processed this. “Did she use an-” he lowered his voice even in the magical silence, “- _ unforgivable curse? _ ”

“No.”

“Oh, thank goodness!”

“Miles! She still killed him!”

Miles waved a hand, “self-defense. She’ll get off.”

“She’s fled. No one knows she did it, she got rid of the body. So, she’s laying low until she can figure out what to do.” Miles swore colorfully, using words that Buccaneer had never even heard before and he blushed profusely. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not! Raven was part of a conspiracy in the Wizengamot. They’re going to know something’s up.”

“Do what now?”

“Raven, Basque Grand, Bradley, that old Warlock, Fox? They’re all in an anti-werewolf conspiracy. I know it sounds crazy, but they’re trying to ban werewolves from Hogwarts, and society in general, have Ishval converted into a prison. They even have plans to experiment on werewolves to try and ‘cure’ us.”

It was Buccaneer’s turn to swear. “Are you alright, Miles? Will you be safe here?”

“I think so. But it doesn’t matter, I have to get proof of Bradley’s involvement to help them bring a case against him.” 

“That doesn’t sound safe at all! And Liv will have my head if I let anything happen to you.” 

“She can’t hurt you if she’s in hiding, you’ll be fine.”

“I think you might be underestimating your girlfriend, there.”

“This is important, Buccaneer. I can’t play it safe anymore, not if I want to have a future at all.”

Buccaneer nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

\---

Roy Mustang had heard a lot of foolhardy plans in his, admittedly short, lifetime, but this was one of the worst. Headmaster Bradley wasn’t the sort of person who could be goaded into giving up his plans, and anyone trying to garner that information from him was setting themselves up for failure. Trying to communicate with Kimblee, though? It was about as safe as cuddling with Devil’s Snare.

But, then he was one of the only people who could do it. Miles and Buccaneer could never get away with pretending to be secret anti-werewolf sympathizers, while the idea of Riza getting anywhere near Kimblee made his skin crawl. 

“So, you came.” Kimblee grinned at him in the half-light of the moon shining through the window of the empty classroom. “I thought for sure this was a setup.”

“No setup,” Roy lied easily, hands held out in a placating gesture, “I just want to help.”

“You think you can help me?” 

“You’ve been working on getting rid of that disgusting werewolf haven’t you?” 

“I wouldn’t say disgusting.” Kimblee eyed him, but what he was thinking was a mystery to Roy. “More like intriguing.”

“Oh?”

“I’m curious, you know, werewolves versus humans? Some might say werewolvism is just a mutation of humanity. Another step in the evolutionary process.”

“A step backwards, surely.”

“Perhaps,” Kimblee shrugged easily, “perhaps.” 

“Still it’s awfully clever of you to plan that attack all by yourself.”   

“I appreciate the flattery, but I’m not so foolish as to think you aren’t trying to get me to reveal my comrades.”

“More like-minded individuals? Can you blame me for being curious?” 

Kimblee’s smile grew sharper, “you’d best be careful, afterall curiosity killed the-” he paused, eyes flicking to the lion on Roy’s tie, “-kitty cat.”     

“I’m willing to take my chances.”

“Ever the brave Gryffindor, I see.” Kimblee hummed thoughtfully, “well I must admit I wonder how you will respond when you see the full truth of the matter.” He tapped his fingers on the professor’s desk, all the while making unwavering eye contact with the Gryffindor. “Very well. I’ll take you to our next meeting. Meet me here the night before the next full moon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little chapter! Please let me know what you think! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> To clarify: For the purposes of this fic I made Ishvalan=werewolf. Hopefully that makes sense to everyone.
> 
> I also made Ed and Al twins because I wanted them to both be first years. Sorry.
> 
> If anyone wants to talk about sorting FMA characters, hit me up on Tumblr! I put a fair bit of thought into where I put people, but a few I was on the fence about. Also, I always want to hear other people's headcanons for where they would all go. :)


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